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ANSTEY ^ 

AUTHOR OF “vice VERSA” BTC. 


DEC !7 1884 






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f 3 



THE BLACK POODLE. 


I HAVE set myself tlie task of relating in the course 
of this story, without suppressing or altering a single 
detail, the most painful and humiliating episode in my 
life. 

I do this, not because it will give me the least pleas- 
ure, but simply because it affords me an opportunity of 
extenuating myself, which has hitherto been wholly 
denied to me. 

As a general rule I am quite aware that to publish a 
lengthy explanation of one’s conduct in any questionable 
transaction is not the best means of recovering a lost 
reputation ; but in my own case there is one to whom I 
shall never more be permitted to justify myself by word 
of mouth — even if I found myself able to attempt it. 
And as she could not possibly think worse of me than 
she does at present, I write this, knowing it can do me 
no harm, and faintly hoping that it may come to her 
notice and suggest a doubt whether I am quite so un- 
scrupulous a villain, so consummate a hypocrite, as I 
have been forced to appear in her eyes. 

The bare chance of such a result makes me perfectly 
indifferent to all else : I cheerfully expose to the derision 
of the whole reading world the story of my weakness 
and my shame, since by doing so I may possibly rehabili- 
tate myself somewhat in the good opinion of one person. 


8 


TEE BLACK POODLE. 


Having said so much I will begin my confession with- 
out further delay : — 

My name is Algernon Weatherhead, and I may add 
that I am in one of the Government departments ; that 
I am an only son and live at home with my mother. 

We had had a house at Hammersmith until just be- 
fore the period covered by this history, when, our lease 
expiring, my mother decided that my health required 
country air at the close of the day, and so we took a 
“ desirable villa residence ” on one of the many new 
building estates which have lately sprung up in such pro- 
fusion in the home counties. 

We have called it “ Wistaria Yilla.” It is a pretty 
little place, the last of a row of detached villas, each 
with its tiny rustic carriage gate and gravel sweep in 
front, and lawn enough for a tennis court behind, which 
lines the road leading over the hill to the railway 
station. 

I could certainly have wished that our landlord, 
shortly after giving us the agreement, could have found 
some other place to hang himself in than one of our 
attics, for the consequence was that a housemaid left us 
in violent hysterics about every two months, having 
learnt the tragedy from the tradespeople, and naturally 
“ seen a somethink ” immediately afterwards. 

Still it is a pleasant house, and I can now almost for- 
give the landlord for what I shall always consider an act 
of gross selfishness on his part. 

In the country, even so near town, a next-door neigh- 
bor is something more than a mere numeral ; he is a 
possible acquaintance, who will at Least consider a new- 
comer as worth the experiment of a call. I soon knew 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


9 


that Sliiiturgarden,” the next house to our own, was 
occupied bj a Colonel Currie, a retired Indian officer; 
and often, as across the low boundary wall I caught a 
glimpse of a graceful girlish figure fiitting about amongst 
the rose-bushes in the neighboring garden, I would lose 
in}’ self in pleasant anticipations of a time not far distant 
when the wall which separated us would be (metaphori- 
cally) levelled. 

I remember — ah, how vividly ! — the thrill of excite- 
ment with which I heard from my mother on returning 
from town one evening that the Curries had called, and 
seemed disposed to be all that was neighborly and kind. 

I remember, too, the Sunday afternoon on which I 
returned their call — alone, as my mother had already 
done so during the week. I was standing on the steps 
of the Colonel’s villa waiting for the door to open when 
I was startled by a furious snarling and yapping behind, 
and, looking round, discovered a large poodle in the act 
of making for my legs. 

He was a coal-black poodle, with half of his right 
ear gone, and absurd little thick moustaches at the end 
of his nose ; he was shaved in the sham-lion fashion, 
which is considered, for some mysterious reason, to im- 
prove a poodle, biit the barber had left sundry little 
tufts of hair which studded his haunches capriciously. 

I could not help being reminded, as I looked at him, 
of another black poodle which Faust entertained for a 
short time, with unhappy results, and I thought that a 
very moderate degree of incantation would be enough 
to bring the fiend out of this brute. 

He made me intensely uncomfortable, for I am of a 
slightly nervous temperament, with a constitutional 


10 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


horror of dogs and a liability to attacks of diffidence on 
perfoi’ming the ordinary social rites under the most 
favorable conditions, and certainly the consciousness 
that a strange and apparently savage dog was engaged 
in worrying the heels of my boots was the reverse of 
reassuring. 

The Currie family received me with all possible kind- 
ness : “So charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr. 
Weatherhead,” said Mrs. Currie, as I shook hands. “I 
see,” she added pleasantly, “ you’ve brought the doggie 
in with you.” As a matter of fact, I had brought the 
doggie in at the ends of my coat-tails, but it was evi- 
dently no unusual occurrence for visitors to appeal* in 
this undignified manner, for she detached him quite as 
a matter of course, and, as soon as I was sufficiently 
collected, we fell into conversation. 

I discovered that the Colonel and his wife were child- 
less, and the slender willowy figure I had seen across 
the garden wall was that of Lilian Roseblade, their 
niece and adopted daughter. She came into the room 
shortly afterwards, and I felt, as I went through the 
form of an introduction, that her sweet fresh face, 
shaded by soft masses of dusky brown hair, more than 
justified all the dreamy hopes and fancies with which I 
had looked forward to that moment. 

She talked to me in a pretty, confidential, appealing 
way, which 1 have heard her dearest friends censure as 
childish and affected, but I thought then that her man- 
ner had an indescribable charm and fascination about 
it, and the memory of it makes my heart ache now with 
a pang that is not all pain. 

Even before the Colonel made his appearance I had 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


11 


begun to see that my enemy, the poodle, occupied an 
exceptional position in that household. It was abun- 
dantly clear by the time I took my leave. 

He seemed to be the centre of their domestic system, 
and even lovely Lilian revolved contentedly around him 
as a kind of satellite ; he could do no wrong in his own- 
er’s eyes, his prejudices (and he was a narrow-minded 
animal) were rigorously respected, and all domestic ar- 
rangements were made with a primary view to his con- 
venience. 

I ma}^ be wrong, but I cannot think that it is wise to 
put any poodle upon such a pedestal as that. How this 
one in particular, as ordinary a quadruped as ever 
breathed, had contrived to impose thus upon his infatu- 
ated proprietors, I never could understand, but so it was 
— he even engrossed the chief part of the conversation, 
which after any lull seemed to veer round to him by a 
sort of natural law. 

I had to endure a long biographical sketch of him — 
what a Society paper would call an anecdotal photo ” 
— and each fresh anecdote seemed to me to exhibit the 
depraved malignit}^ of the beast in a more glaring light, 
and render the doting admiration of the family more 
astounding than ever. 

‘‘Did you tell Mr. Weatherhead, Lily, about Bingo” 
(Bingo was the poodle’s preposterous name) “ and Tacks ? 
Ho ? Oh, I must tell him that — it’ll make him laugh. 
Tacks is our gardener down in the village (d’ye know 
Tacks?). Well, Tacks w'as up here the other day, nail- 
ing up some trellis-work at the top of a ladder, and all 
the time there was Master Bingo sitting quietly at the 
foot of it looking on, wouldn’t leave it on any account. 


12 


THE BLACK POODLE, 


Tacks said he was quite company for him. Well, at last, 
when Tacks had finished and was coming down, what do 
you think that rascal there did ? Just sneaked quietly 
up behind and nipped him in both calves and ran off. 
Been looking out for that the whole time ! Ha, ha ! — 
deep that, eh ? ” 

I agreed with an inward shudder that it was very 
deep, thinking privately that, if this was a specimen of 
Bingo’s usual treatment of the natives, it would be odd 
if he did not find himself deeper still before — pi’obably 
just before — he died. 

\ “ Poor faithful old doggie ! ” murmured Mrs. Currie ; 

he thought Tacks was a nasty burglar, didn’t he ? he 
w^asn’t going to see Master robbed, was he ? ” 

“ Capital house-dog, sir,” struck in the Colonel. 
“ Gad, I shall never forget how- he made poor Heavisides 
run for it the other day ! Ever met Heavisides of the 
Bombay Fusiliers? Well, Heavisides was staying here, 
and the dog met him one morning as he was coming 
down from the bath-room. Didn’t recognise him in 
‘pyjamas ’ and a dressing-gown, of course, and made at 
him. He kept poor old Heavisides outside the landing 
window on the top of the cistern for a quarter of an 
hour, till I had to come and raise the siege ! ” 

Such were the stories of that abandoned dog’s blun- 
derhead ed ferocity to which I was forced to listen, while 
all the time the brute sat opposite me on the hearthrug, 
blinking at me from under his shaggy mane with his 
evil bleared eyes, and deliberating where he would have 
me when I rose to go. 

This was the beginning of an intimacy which soon 
displaced all ceremony. It was very pleasant to go in 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


IS 


there after dinner, even to sit with tlie Colonel over his 
claret and hear more stories about Bingo, for afterwards 
I could go into the pretty drawing-room and take my 
tea from Lilian’s hand, and listen while she played Schu- 
bert to us in the summer twilight. 

The poodle was always in the way, to be sure, but 
even his ugly bUck head seemed to lose some of its 
ugliness and ferocity when Lilian laid her pretty hand 
on it. 

On the whole I think that the Currie family were 
well disposed towards me ; the Colonel considering me 
as a harmless specimen of the average eligible young 
man — which 1 certainly was — and Mrs. Currie showing 
me favor for my mother’s sake, for whom she had taken 
a strong liking. 

As for Lilian, I believed I saw that she soon sus- 
pected the state of my feelings towards her and was not 
displeased by it. I looked forward with some hopeful- 
ness to a day when I could declare myself with no fear 
of a repulse. 

But it was a serious obstacle in my path that I could 
not secure Bingo’s good opinion on any terms. The 
family would often lament this pathetically themselves. 
“You see,” Mrs. Gurrie would observe in apolog/, 
“ Bingo is a dog that does not attach himself easily to 
strangers ” — though for that matter I thought he was 
unpleasantly ready to attach himself to me. 

I did try hard to conciliate him. I brought him propi- 
tiatory buns — which was weak and inelfectual, as he ate 
them with avidity, and hated me as bitterly as ever, for 
he had conceived from the first a profound contempt for 
me and a distrust which no blandishments of mine could 


14 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


remove. Looking -back now, I am inclined to think it 
was a prophetic instinct that warned him of what was 
to come upon him through mj instrumentality. 

Only his approbation was wanting to establish for me 
a firm footing with the Curries, and perhaps determine 
Lilian’s wavering heart in my direction ; but, though I 
wooed that inflexible poodle with an assiduity I blush to 
remember, he remained obstinately firm. 

Still, day by day, Lilian’s treatment of me \vas more 
encouraging ; day by day I gained in the esteem of her 
uncle and aunt ; I began to hope that soon I should be 
able to disregard canine influence altogether. 

Now there Was one inconvenience about our villa (be- 
sides its flavor of suicide) which it is necessary to men- 
tion here. By common consent all the cats of the 
neighborhood had selected our garden for their evening 
; reunions. I fancy that a tortoiseshell kitchen cat of 
I ours must have been a sort of leader of local feline so- 
ciety — 1 know she was^‘ at home,” with music and reci- 
' tations, on most evenings. My poor mother found this 
interfere with her after-dinner nap, and no wonder, for 
if a cohort of ghosts had been ‘‘ shrieking and squeal- 
ing,” as Calpurnia puts it, in our back garden, or it had 
been fitted up as a creche for a nursery of goblin infants 
in the agonies of teething, the noise could" not possibly 
have been more unearthly. 

We sought for some means of getting rid of the nui- 
sance : there was poison of course, but we thought it 
would have an invidious appearance, and even lead to 
legal difiiculties, if each dawn were to discover an assort- 
ment of cats expiring in hideous convulsions in various 
parts of the' same garden. 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


15 


Firearms, too, were open to objection, and would 
scarcely assist my mother’s slumbers, so for some time 
we were at a loss for a remedy. At last, one day, walk- 
ing down the Strand, I chanced to see (in an evil hour) 
what struck me as the very thing — it was an air-gun of 
superior construction displayed in a gunsmith’s window. 
I went in at once, purchased it, and took it home in tri- 
umph ; it would be noiseless, and would reduce the local 
average of cats without scandal^one or two examples, 
and feline fashion would soon migrate to a more secluded 
spot. 

I lost no time in putting this to the proof. That 
same evening I lay in wait after dusk at* the study win- 
dow, protecting my mother’s repose. As soon as I 
heard the long-drawn wail, the preliminary sputter, and 
the wild stampede that followed, I let fly in the direc- 
tion of the sound. I suppose I must have something of 
the national sporting instinct in me, for my blood was 
tingling with excitement ; but the feline constitution 
assimilates lead without serious inconvenience, and I be- 
gan to feaj* that no trophy would remain to bear witness 
to my marksmanship. u 

But all at once I made out a dark indistinct form 
slinking in from behind the bushes. I waited till it 
crossed a belt of light which streamed from the back 
kitchen below me, and then I took careful aim and 
pulled the trigger. 

This time, at least, I had not failed — there was a 
smothered yell, a rustle — and then silence again. I 
ran out with the calm pride of a successful revenge 
to bring in the body of my victim, and 1 found under- 
neath a laurel, no predatory tom-cat, but (as the discern- 


16 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


ing reader will no doubt have foreseen long since) the 
quivering carcase of the Colonel’s black poodle ! 

I intend to set down here the exact unvarnished truth, 
and I confess that at first, when I knew what I had done, 
I was not sorry. I was quite innocent of any intention 
of doing it, but I felt no regret. I even laughed — mad- 
man that I was — at the thought that there was the end 
of Bingo at all events ; that impediment was removed, 
my weary task of conciliation was over for ever ! 

But soon the reaction came ; I realized the tremendous 
nature of my deed, and shuddered. I had done that 
which might banish me from. Lilian’s side for ever ! All 
unwittingly I had slaughtered a kind of sacred beast, 
the animal around which the Currie household had 
wreathed their choicest affections ! How was I to break 
it to them ? Should I send Bingo in with a card tied 
to his neck, and my regrets and compliments ? That 
was too much like a present of game. Ought I not to 
carry him in myself ? 1 would wreathe him in the best 
crape, I would put on black for him — the Curries would 
hardly consider a taper and a white sheet, or sackcloth 
and ashes, an excessive form of atonement — but I could 
not grovel to quite such an abject extent. 

I wondered what the Colonel would say. Simple and 
hearty as a general rule, he had a hot temper on occa- 
sions, and it made me ill as I thought, would he and, 
worse still, would Lilian believe it was really an acci- 
dent ? They knew what an interest I had in silencing 
the deceased poodle — would they believe the simple 
truth ? 

I vowed that they should believe me. My genuine 
remorse and the absence of all concealment on my part 


TUB BLACK POODLE. 


17 


would speak powerfully for me. I would choose a 
favorable time for my confession ; that very evening I 
would tell all. 

Still I shrank from the duty before me, and as I knelt 
down sorrowfully by the dead form and respectfully 
composed its stiffening limbs, I thought that it was un- 
just of Fate to place a well-meaning man, whose* nerves 
were not of iron, in such a position. 

Then, to my horror, I heard a well-known ringing 
tramp on the road outside, and smelt the peculiar fra- 
grance of a Burmese cheroot. It was the Colonel him- 
self, who had been taking out the doomed Bingo for his 
usual evening run. 

I don’t know how it was exactly, but a sudden panic 
came over me. I held my breath and tried to crouch 
down unseen behind the laurels ; but he had seen me, 
and came over at once to speak to me across the hedge. 

He stood there, not two yards from his favorite’s 
body ! Fortunately it was unusually dark that evening. 

Ha, there you are, eh ? ” he began heartily ; “ don’t 
rise, my boy, don’t rise.” I was trying to put myself in 
front of the poodle, and did not rise — at least, only my 
hair did. 

“You’re out late, ain’t you?” he went on; “laying 
out your garden, hey ? ” 

I could not tell him that I was laying out his poodle ! 
My voice shook as, with a guilty confusion that was 
veiled by the dusk, I said it was a tine evening — which 
it was not. 

“ Cloudy, sir,” said the Colonel, “ cloudy— rain before 
morning, I think. By the way, have you seen anything 
of my Bingo in here ? ” 

2 


18 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


This was the turning point. What I ought to have 
done was to say mournfully, “Yes, I’m sorry to say I’ve 
had a most unfortunate accident with him — here he is — 
the fact is. I’m afraid I’ve shot him ! ” 

But I couldn’t. I could have told him at my own 
time, in a prepared form of words — but not then. I 
felt I must use all my wits to gain time and fence with 
the questions. 

“ Why,” I said with a leaden airiness, “ he hasn’t given 
you the slip, has he ? ” 

“ Never did such a thing in his life ! ” said the Colonel, 
warmly ; “ he rushed off after a rat or a frog or some- 
thing a few minutes ago, and as I stopped to light an- 
other cheroot I lost sight of him. I thought I saw him 
slip in under your gate, but I’ve been calling him from 
the front there and he won’t come out.” 

No, and he never would come out any more. But the 
Colonel mi^ not be told that just yet. I temporised 
again : “ If,” I said unsteadily, “ if he had slipped in 
under the gate, I should have seen him. Perhaps he 
took it into his head to run home ? ” 

“ Oh, I shall find him on the doorstep, I expect, the 
knowing old scamp ! Why, what d’ye think was the 
last thing he did, now ? ” 

I could have given him the very latest intelligence ; 
but I dared not. However, it was altogether too ghastly 
to kneel there and laugh at anecdotes of Bingo told 
across Bingo’s dead body ; I could not stand that 1 
“Listen,” I said suddenly, “wasn’t that his bark? 
There again ; it seems to come from the front of your 
house, don’t you think ? ” 

“Well,” said the Colonel, “I’ll go and fasten him up 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


19 


before lie’s off again. How your teeth are chattering — 
you’ve caught a chill, man — go indoors at once and, if 
you feel equal to it, look in half an liour later about grog 
time, and I’ll tell you all about it. Compliments to your 
mother. Don’t forget — about grog time ! ” I had got 
rid of him at last, and I wiped my forehead, gasping 
with relief. I would go round in half an hour, and 
then I should be prepared to make mj^ melancholy an- 
nouncement. For, even then, I never thought of any 
other course, until suddenly it flashed upon me with ter- 
rible clearness that my miserable shuffling by the hedge 
had made it impossible to tell the truth ! I had not 
told a direct lie, to be sure, but then I had given the 
Colonel the impression that I had denied having seen 
the dog. Many people can appease their consciences by 
reflecting that, whatever may be the effect their words 
produce, they did contrive to steer clear of a downright 
lie. I never quite knew where the distinc'&ipn lay, mor- 
alljq but there is that feeling — I have it myself. 

Unfortunately, prevarication has this drawback, that, 
if ever the truth comes to light, the prevaricator is in 
just the same case as if he had lied to the most shame- 
less extent, and for a man to point out that the words 
he used contained no absolute falsehood will seldom re- 
store confidence. 

I might of course still tell the Colonel of my misfort- 
une, and leave him to infer that it had happened after 
our interview, but the poodle was fast becoming cold 
and stiff, and they would most probably suspect the real 
time of the occurrence. 

And then Lilian would hear that I told a string of 
falsehoods to her uncle over the dead body of their idol- 


20 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


ised Bingo — an act, no doubt, of abominable desecra- 
tion, of unspeakable profanity in lier eyes ! 

If it would have been difficult before to prevail on her 
to accept a bloodstained hand, it would be impossible 
after that. 'No, I had burnt my ships, I was cut off for 
ever from the straightforward course ; that one moment 
of indecision had decided my conduct in spite of me — 
1 must go on with it now and keep up the deception at 
all hazards. 

It was bitter. I had always tried to preserve as many 
of the moral principles which had been instilled into 
me as can be conveniently retained in this grasping 
world, and it had been my pride that, roughly speaking, 
I had never been guilty of an unmistakable falsehood. 

But henceforth, if I meant to win Lilian, that boast 
must be relinquished for ever! I should have to lie 
now with all my might, without limit or scruple, to dis- 
semble incessantly, and ‘‘wear a mask,” as the poet Bunn 
beautifully expressed it long ago,“ over my hollow heart.” 
I felt all this keenly — I did not think it was right — but 
what was I to do ? 

After thinking all this out very carefully, I decided 
that my only course was to bury the poor animal where 
he fell and say nothing about it. With some vague 
idea of precaution I first took ofi the silver collar he 
wore, and then hastily interred him with a garden- 
trowel and succeeded in removing all traces of the 
disaster. 

I fancy I felt a certain relief in the knowledge that 
there would now be no necessity to tell my pitiful story 
and risk the loss of my neighbors’ esteem. 

By-and-by, I thought, I would plant a rose-tree over 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


21 


liis remains, and some day, as Lilian and I, in the noon- 
tide of our domestic bliss, stood before it admiring its 
creamy luxuriance, I might (perhaps) find courage to 
confess that the tree owed some of that luxuriance to 
the long-lost Bingo. 

There was a touch of poetry in this idea that lightened 
my gloom for the moment. 

I need scarcely say that I did not go round to Shutur- 
garden that evening. I was not hardened enough for 
that yet — my manner might betray me, and so I very 
prudently stayed at home. 

But that night my sleep was broken 1^ frightful 
dreams. I ^as perpetually trying to bii^ a great 
gaunt poodle, which would persist in rising up through 
the damp mould as fast as 1 covered him up. . . . 
•Lilian and I were engaged, and we were in church 
together on Sunday, and the poodle, resisting all at- 
tempts to eject him, forbade our banns with sepulchral 
barks. ... It was our wedding-day, and at the critical 
moment that the poodle leaped between us and swallow- 
ed the ring. ... Or we wei’e at the wedding-breakfast, 
and Bingo, a grizzly black skeleton with fiaming eyes, 
sat on the cake and would not allow Lilian to cut it. 
Even the rose-tree fancy was reproduced in a distorted 
form — the tree grew, and every blossom contained a 
miniature Bingo, which barked ; and as I woke I was 
desperately trying to persuade the Colonel that they 
were ordinary dog-roses. 

I went up to the office next day with my gloomy 
secret gnawing my bosom, and, whatever I did, the 
spectre of the murdered poodle rose before me. For 
two days after that I dared not go near the Curries, uii- 


22 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


til at last one evening after dinner I forced myself to 
call, feeling that it was really not safe to keep away any 
longer. 

My conscience smote as I went in. I put on an un- 
conscious easy manner, which was such a dismal failure 
that it was lucky for me that they were too much en- 
grossed to notice it. 

I never before saw a family so stricken down by a 
domestic misfortune as the group I found in the draw- 
ing-room, making a dejected pretence of reading or work- 
ing. We talked at first — and hollow talk it was — on 
indifferen^ubjects, till I could bear it no longer, and 
plunged bmdly into danger. 

I don’t see the dog,” I began. ‘‘I suppose you — you 
found him all right the other evening. Colonel ? ” I 
wondered as I spoke whether they would not notice the 
break in my voice, but they did not. 

Why, the fact is,” said the Colonel, heavily, gnaw- 
ing his gray moustache, we’ve not heard anything of 
him since : he’s — he’s run off ! ” 

‘‘Gone, Mr. Weatherhead ; gone without a word!” 
said Mrs. Currie, plaintively, as if she thought the dog 
might at least have left an address. 

“ I wouldn’t have believed it of him,” said the Col- 
onel ; “ it has completely knocked me over. Haven’t 
been so cut up for years — the ungrateful rascal ! ” 

“ Oh, Uncle ! ” pleaded Lilian, “ don’t talk like that ; 
perhaps Bingo couldn’t help it— perhaps some one has 
s-s-shot him ! ” 

“ Shot 1 ” cried the Colonel, angrily. By heaven ! 
if I thought there was a villain on earth capable of 
shooting that poor inoffensive dog, I’d Why should 


Tim BLACK POODLE. 


23 


they shoot him, Lilian ? Tell me that ! I — I hope you 
won’t let me hear you talk like that again. You don’t 
think he’s shot, eh, Weatherhead ? ” 

I said — Heaven forgive me ! — that I thought it highly 
improbable. 

He’s not dead ! ” cried Mrs. Currie. “ If he were 
dead I should know it somehow — I’m sure I slioiild ! 
But I’m certain he’s alive. Only last night I had such 
a beautiful dream about him. I thought he came back 
to us, Mr. Weatherhead, driving up in a hansom cab, 
and he was just the same as ever — only he wore blue 
spectacles, and the shaved part of him wj^ painted a 
bright red. And I woke up with the joy — so, you know, 
it’s sure to come true ! ” 

It will be easily understood what torture conversa- 
tions like these were to me, and how I hated myself as 
I sympathised and spoke encouraging words concern- 
ing the dog’s recovery, when I knew all the time he was 
lying hid under my garden mould. But I took it as a 
part of my punishment, and bore it all uncomplain- 
ingly ; practice even made me an adept in the art of 
consolation — I believe I really was a great comfort to 
them. 

I had hoped that they would soon get over the first 
bitterness of their loss, and that Bingo would be first re- 
placed and then forgotten in the usual way ; but there 
seemed no signs of this coming to pass. 

The poor Colonel was too plainly fretting himself ill 
about it ; he went pottering about forlornly— advertis- 
ing, searching, and seeing people, but all of course to no 
purpose, and it told upon him. He was more like a 
man whose only son and heir had been stolen, than' an 


24 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


Anglo-Indian officer who had lost a poodle. I had to 
alfect the liveliest interest in all his inquiries and expedi- 
tions, and to listen to, and echo, the most extravagant 
eulogies of the departed, and the wear and tear of so 
much duplicity made me at last almost as ill as the Col- 
onel himself. 

I could not help seeing that Lilian was not nearly so 
much impressed by my elaborate concern as her rela- 
tives ; and sometimes I detected an incredulous look in 
her frank brown eyes that made me very uneasy. Lit- 
tle by little, a rift widened between us, until at last in 
despair I c^ermined to know the ^vorst before the time 
came when it would be hopeless to speak at all. I chose 
a Sunday evening as we were walking across the green 
from church in the golden dusk, and then I ven- 
tured to speak to her of my love. She heard me to the 
end, and was evidently very much agitated. At last 
she murmured that it could not be, unless — no, it never 
could be now. 

Unless what ? ” I asked. “ Lilian — Miss Eoseblade, 
something has come between us lately : you will tell mC 
what that something is, won’t you ? ” 

“ Do you want to know really f ” she said, looking up 
at m^ through her tears. “ Then I’ll tell you : it — it’s 
Bingo ! ” 

I started back overwhelmed. Did she know all ? If 
not, how much did she suspect ? I must find out that 
at once ! “ What about Bingo ? ” I managed to pro- 

nounce, with a dry tongue. 

‘•You never l-loved him when he was here,” she 
sobbed ; “ you know’ you didn’t ! ” 

I was relieved to find it w^as no w’orse than this. 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


25 


“No,” I said candidly; “I did not love Bingo. 
Bingo didn’t love me^ Lilian ; lie was always looking 
out for a chance of nipping me somewhere. Surely you 
won’t quarrel with me for that 1 ” 

“ Not for that,” she said, “ only, why do you pretend 
to be so fond of him now, and so anxious to get him 
back again? Uncle John believes you, but I don’t. 
I can see quite well that you wouldn’t be glad to find 
him. You could find him easily if you wanted to ! ” 

“What do you mean, Lilian?” I said hoarsely. 
“ How could I find him ? ” Again 1 feared the worst. 

“You’re in a Government office,” cried Lilian, “and 
if you only chose, you could easily g-get G-Govornment 
to find Bingo ! What’s the use of Government if it can’t 
do that ? Mr. Travers would have found him long ago 
if I’d asked him ! ” 

Lilian had never been so childishly unreasonable as 
this before, and yet I loved her more madly than ever ; 
but I did not like this allusion to Travers, a rising bar- 
rister, who lived with his sister in a pretty cottage near 
the station, and had shown symptoms of being attracted 
by Lilian. 

He was away on circuit just then, luckily, but at least 
even he would have found it a hard task to find Bingo 
— there was comfort in that. 

“ You know that isn’t j list, Lilian,” I observed. “ But 
only tell me what you want me to do ? ” 

“ Bub — bub — bring back Bingo ! ” she said. 

“ Bring back Bingo ! ” 1 cried in horror. “ But sup- 
pose I cari^t — suppose he’s out of the country, or — dead, 
what then, Lilian ? ” 

“ I can’t help it,” she said ; “ but I don’t believe he 


26 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


is out of the country or dead. And while I see you 
pretending to Uncle that you cared awfully about him, 
and going on doing nothing at all, it makes me think 
you’re not quite — quite sincere ! And I ^ couldn’t pos- 
sibly marry any one while I thought that of him. And 
I shall always have that feeling unless you find Bingo ! ” 

It was of no use to argue with her ; I knew Lilian by 
that time. With her pretty caressing manner she united 
a latent obstinacy which it was hopeless to attempt to 
shake. I feared, too, that she was not quite certain as 
yet whether she cared for me or not, and that this con- 
dition of hers was an expedient to gain time. 

I left her with a heavy heart. Unless I proved my 
worth by bringing back Bingo within a very short time, 
Travers would probably have everything his own way. 
And Bingo was dead ! 

However, I took heart. I thought that perhaps if .1 
could succeed by my earnest efforts in persuading Lilian 
that I really was doing all in my. power to recover the 
poodle, she might relent in time, and dispense with his 
actual production. 

So, partly with this object, and partly to appease the 
remorse which now revived and stung me deeper than 
before, I undertook long and weary pilgrimages after 
office hours. I spent many pounds in advertisements ; 
I interviewed dogs of eveiy size, color, and breed, and 
of course I took care to keep Lilian informed of each 
successive failure. But still her heart was not touched ; 
she was firm. If I went on like that, she told me, I was 
certain to find Bingo one day — then, but not before, 
w^ould her doubts be set at rest. 

I was walking one day through the somewhat squalid 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


27 


district whicli lies between Bow Street and High Hol- 
born, when I saw, in a small theatrical costumier’s win- 
dow, a handbill stating that a black poodle had ‘‘ followed 
a gentleman ” on a certain date, and if not claimed and 
tlie finder remunerated before a stated time,, would be 
sold to pay expenses. 

I went in and got a copy of the bill to show Lilian, 
and although by that time I scarcely dared to look a 
poodle in the face, I thought I would go to the address 
given and see the animal, simply to be able to tell Lilian 
I had done so. 

The gentleman whom the dog had very unaccountably 
followed was a certain Mr, William Blagg, who kept a 
little shop near Endell Street, and called himself a bird- 
fancier, though I should scarcely have credited him with 
the necessary imagination. He was an evil-browed ruffian 
in a fur cap, with a broad broken nose and little shifty 
red eyes, and after I had told him what I wanted, he took 
me through a horrible little den, stacked with piles of 
wooden, wire, and wicker prisons, each quivering with 
restless, twittering life, and then out into a back yard, in 
which were two or three rotten old kennels and tubs, 

That there’s him,” he said, jerking his thumb to the 
farthest tub ; “ follered me all the way ’ome from 
Kinsington Gardings, he did. Kim out, will yer ? ” 

And out of the tub there crawled slowly, with a snuf- 
fling whimper and a rattling of its chain, the identical 
dog I had slain a few evenings before ! 

At least, so I thought for a moment, and felt as if I 
had seen a spectre ; the resemblance was so exact — in 
size, in every detail, even to the little clumps of hair 
about the hind parts, even to the lop of half an ear, this 


28 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


dog might have been the doppel -ganger ” of the de- 
ceased Bingo. I suppose, after all, one black poodle is 
very like any other black poodle of the same size, but 
the likeness startled me. 

I think it was then that the idea occurred to me that 
here was a miraculous chance of securing the sweetest 
girl in the whole world, and at the same time atoning 
for my wrong by bringing back gladness with me to 
Shuturgarden. It only needed a little boldness; one 
last deception, and I could embrace truthfulness once 
more. 

Almost unconsciously, when my guide turned round 
and askedj “ It that there dawg yourn ? ” I said, hur- 
riedly, “Yes, yes— that’s the dog I want, that — that’s 
Bingo ! ” 

“ He don’t seem to be a puttin’ of ’isself out about 
seeing you again,” observed Mr. Blagg, as the poodle 
studied me with a calm interest. 

“ Oh, he’s not exactly my dog, you see,” I said ; “he 
belongs to a friend of mine ! ” 

He gave me a quick, furtive glance. “ Then maybe 
you’re mistook about him,” he said ; “ and I can’t run 
no risks. I was a goin’ down in the country this ’ere 
werry evenin’ to see a party as lives at Wistaria Willa 
— he’s been a had’wertisin’ about a black poodle, he has ! ” 

“ But look here,” I said, “ that’s w.” 

He gave a me curious leer. “No offence, you know, 
guv’nor,” he said, “ but I should wish for some evidence 
as to that afore I part with a vallyable dawg like this 
’ere ! ” 

“Well,” I said, “here’s one of my cards ; will that 
do for you ? ” 


TEE BLACK POODLE. 


29 


He took it and spelt it out with a pretence of great 
caution, but I saw well enough that the old scoundrel 
suspected that if I l^ad lost a dog at all, it was not this 
particular dog. ‘‘ Ah,” he said, as he put it in his pock- 
et, “ if I part with him to you, I must be cleared of all 
risks. I can’t afford to get into trouble about no mis- 
takes. Unless you likes to leave him for a day or two, 
you must pay accordin’, you see.” 

I wanted to get the hateful business over as soon as 
possible. I did not care what I paid — Lilian was worth 
all the expense ! I said I had no doubt myself as to the 
real ownership of the animal, but I would give him any 
sum in reason, and would remove the dog at once. 

And so we settled it. I paid him an extortionate 
sum, and came away with a duplicate poodle, a canine 
counterfeit, which I hoped to pass off at Shuturgarden 
as the long-lost Bingo. 

I know it was wrong — it even came unpleasantly near 
dog-stealing — but I was a desperate man. I saw Lilian 
gradually slipping away from me, I knew that nothing 
short of this could ever recall her, I was sorely tempted, 
I had gone far on the same road already, it was the old 
story of being hung for a sheep. And so I fell. 

Surely some who read this will be generous enough 
to consider the peculiar state of the case, and mingle a 
little pity with their contempt. 

1 was dining in town that evening and took my pur- 
chase home by a late train ; his demeanor was grave 
and intensely respectable ; he was not the animal to 
commit himself by any flagrant indiscretion — he was 
gentle and tractable, too, and in all respects an agreeable 
contrast in character to the original. Still, it may have 


30 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


been the after-dinner workings of conscience, but I could 
not help fancying that I saw a certain look in the crea- 
ture’s eyes, as if he were aware that he was required to 
connive at a fraud, and rather resented it. 

If he would only be good enough to back me up ! 
Fortunately, however, he was such a perfect facsimile of 
the outward Bingo, that the risk of detection was really 
inconsiderable. 

When I got him home, I put Bingo’s silver collar 
round his neck — congratulating myself on my fore- 
thought in preserving it, and took him in to see my 
mother. She accepted him as what he seemed, without 
the slightest misgiving ; but this, though it encouraged 
me to go on, was not decisive, the spurious poodle would 
have to encounter the scrutiny of those wlio knew every 
tuft on the genuine animal’s body ! 

Nothing would have induced me to undergo suck 
an ordeal as that of personally restoring him to the 
Curries. We gave him supper, and tied him up on the 
lawn, where he howled dolefully all night, and buried 
bones. 

The next morning I wrote a note to Mrs. Currie, ex- 
pressing my pleasure at being able to restore the lost 
one, and another to Lilian, containing only the words, 
‘‘Will you believe now that I am sincere?” Then I 
tied both found the poodle’s neck and dropped him over 
the wall into the Colonel’s garden just before I started 
to catch my train to town. 

1 had an anxious walk home from the station that 
evening ; I went round by the longer way, trembling 
the whole time lest 1 should meet any of the Currie 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


31 


household, to which I felt myself entirely unequal 
just then. I could not rest until I knew whether my 
fraud had succeeded, or if the poodle to which I had 
entrusted my fate had basely betrayed me ; but my sus- 
pense was happily ended as soon as I entered my 
mother’s room. You can’t think how delighted those 
poor Curries were to see Bingo again,” she said at once ; 
‘‘ and they said such charming things about you, Algy — 
Lilian, particularly — quite affected she seemed, poor 
child ! And they wanted you to go round and dine 
there and be thanked to-night, but at last I persuaded 
them to come to us instead. And they’re going to bring 
the dog to make friends. Oh, and I met Frank Travers ; 
he’s back from circuit again now, so I asked him in too, 
to meet them ! ” 

I drew a deep breath of relief. I had played a des- 
perate game— -but I had won ! I could have wished to 
be sure, that my mother had not thought of bringing in 
Travers on that of all evenings — but I hoped that I 
could defy him after this. 

The Colonel and his people were the first to arrive ; 
he and his wife being so effusively grateful that they 
made me very uncomfortable indeed ; Lilian met me 
with downcast eyes, and the faintest possible blush, but 
she said nothing just then. Five minutes afterwards, 
when she and I were alone together in the conservatory, 
where I had brought her on pretence of showing a new 
begonia, she laid her hand on my sleeve and whispered, 
almost shyly, ‘'Mr. Weatlierhead — Algernon ! Can you 
ever forgive me for being so cruel and unjust to you ?” 
And I replied that, upon the whole, I could. 

We were not in that conservatory long, but, before we 


32 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


left it, beautiful Lilian Eoseblade had consented to make 
my life happy. When we re-entered the drawing-room, 
we found Frank Travers, who had been told the story 
of the recovery, and I observed his jaw fall as he 
glanced at our faces, and noted the triumphant smile 
which I have no doubt mine wore, and the tender 
dreamy look in Lilian’s soft eyes. Poor Travers, I was 
sorry for him, although I was not fond of him. Travers 
was a good type of the rising young Common Law bar- 
rister ; tall, not bad-looking, with keen dark eyes, black 
whiskers, and the mobile forensic month, whicli can ex- 
press every shade of feeling, from deferential assent to 
cynical incredulity ; possessed, too, of endless flow of 
conversation that was decidedly agreeable, if a trifle too 
laboriously so, he had been a dangerous rival. But all 
that was over now — he saw it himself at once, and dur- 
ing dinner sank into dismal silence, gazing pathetically 
at Lilian, and sighing almost obtrusively between the 
courses. His stream of small talk seemed to have been 
cut off at the main. 

“You’ve done a kind thing, Weatherhead,” said the 
Colonel. “ I can’t tell you all that dog is to me, and 
how I missed the poor beast. Pd quite given up all 
hope of ever seeing him again, and all the time there 
was Weatherhead, Mr. Travers, quietly searching all 
London till he found him ! I shan’t forget it. It shows 
a really kind feeling.” 

I saw by Travers’s face that he was telling himself he 
would have found fifty Bingos in half the time — if he had 
only thought of it ; he smiled a melancholy assent to all 
the Colonel said, and then began to study me with an 
obviously depreciatory air. 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


33 


“You can’t think,” I heard Mrs. Currie telling my 
mother, “how really touching it was to see poor dear 
Bingo’s emotion at seeing all the old familiar objects 
again! He went up and sniffed at them all in turn, 
quite plainly recognizing everything. And he was quite 
put out to find that we had moved his favorite ottoman 
out of the drawing-room. But he is so penitent, too, 
and so ashamed of having run away ; he hardly dares to 
come when John calls him, and he kept under a chair 
in the hall all the morning — he wouldn’t come in here 
either, so we had to leave him in your garden.” 

“ He’s been sadly out of spirits all day,” said Lilian ; 
“ he hasn’t bitten one of the tradespeople.” 

“ Oh, Ite^s all right, the rascal ! ” said the Colonel, 
cheeril}' ; “ he’ll be after the cats again as well as ever 
in a day or two.” 

“Ah, those cats!” said my poor innocent mother. 
“Algy, you haven’t tried the air-gun on them again 
lately, have you ? They’re worse than ever.” 

I troubled the Colonel to pass the claret; Travers 
laughed for the first time. “ That’s a good idea,” he 
said, in that carrying “ bar-mess ” voice of his ; “ an air- 
gun for cats, ha, ha! Make good bags, eh, Weather- 
head ? ” I said that I did, mry good bags, and felt I 
was getting painfully red in the face. 

“ Oh, Algy is an excellent shot — quite a sportsman,” 
said my mother. “ I remember, oh, long ago, when we 
lived at Hammersmith, he had a pistol, and he used to 
strew crumbs in the garden for the sparrows, and shoot 
at them out of the pantry window ; he frequently hit 
one.” 

“Well,” said the Colonel, not much impressed by 
3 


34 : 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


these sporting reminiscences, don’t go rolling over onr 
Bingo by mistake, yon know, Weatherhead, my bo3^ 
bTot blit what you’ve a sort of right after this — only 
don’t. I wonldn’t go through it all twice for any- 
thing.” 

“ If yon really wmn’t take any more wine,” I said hur- 
riedly, addressing the Colonel and Travers, ‘‘suppose 
we all go out and have onr coffee on the lawn ? It — it 
will be cooler there.” For it was getting very hot in- 
doors, I thought. 

I left Travers to amnse the ladies — he conld do no 
more harm now ; and taking the Colonel aside, I seized 
the opportunity, as we strolled np and down the garden 
path, to ask his consent to Lilian’s engagement to me. 
He gave it cordially. “There’s not a man in England,” 
he said, “that I’d sooner see her married to after to-day. 
You’re a quiet steady young fellow, and you’ve a good 
kind heart. As for the money, that’s neither here nor 
there ; Lilian won’t come to yon without a penny, you 
know. But really, my boy, yon can hardly believe what 
it is to my poor wife and me to see that dog. Why, 
bless my soul, look at him now! What’s the matter ^ 
wdth him, eh ? ” < 

To my unutterable horror I saw that that miserable 
poodle, after begging unnoticed at the tea-table for some 
time, had retired to an open space before it, where he s 
was now industriously standing on his head. i 

We gathered round and examined the animal curi- i 
ously, as he continued to balance himself gravely in j 
his abnormal position. “ Good gracious, John,” cried | 
Mrs. Currie, “ I never saw Bingo do such a thing before J 
in his life ! ” j 


TUE BLACK POODLE. 


35 


Yerj odd,” said the Colonel, putting up liis glasses ; 
‘‘ never learnt that from meP 

“ I tell \you what I fancv it is,” I suggested wildly. 
‘‘You see, he was always a sensitive, excitable animal, 
and perhaps the — the sudden joy of his return has gone 
to his head — ujjset him you know.” 

Tiiey seemed disposed to accept this solution, and 
indeed I believe they would have credited Bingo with 
every conceivable degree of sensibility ; but I felt my- 
self that if this unhappy animal had many more of these 
accomplishments I was undone, for the original Bingo 
had never been a dog of parts. 

“ It’s very odd,” said Travers, reflectively, as the dog 
recovered his proper level, “ but I always thought that 
it was half the right ear that Bingo had lost ? ” 

“ So it is, isn’t it ? ” said the Colonel. “ Left, eh ? 
"Well, I thought myself it was the right.” 

My heart almost stopped with terror — I had alto- 
gether forgotten that. I hastened to set the point at 
rest. “ Oh, it was the left,” I said positively ; “ I know 
it because I remember so particularly thinking how odd 
it was that it should be the left ear, and not the right ! ” 
I told myself this should be positively my last lie. 

“ Why odd ? ” asked Frank Travers, with his most 
offensive Socratic manner. 

“ My dear fellow, I can’t tell you,” I said impatiently ; 
“ everything seems odd when ^mu come to think at all 
about it.” 

“ Algernon,” said Lilian later on, “ will you tell Aunt 
Mary and Mr. Travers, and — and me, how it was you 
came to find Bingo ? Mr. Travers is cpiite anxious to 
hear all about it.” 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


.06 

i^^could not very well refuse ; I sat down and told the 
story, all my own way. I painted Blagg, perhaps, 
rather bigger and blacker than life, and described an 
exciting scene, in which I recognised Bingo by his col- 
lar in the streets, and claimed and bore him off then and 
there, in spite of all opposition. 

I had the inexpressible pleasure of seeing Travers 
grinding his teeth wdth envy as I went on, and feeling 
Lilian’s soft, slender hand glide silently into mine as I 
told my tale in the twilight. 

All at once, just as I reached the climax, we heard 
the poodle barking furiously at the hedge which sepa- 
rated my garden from the road. “ There’s a foreign- 
looking man staring over the hedge,” said Lilian ; 

Bingo always did hate foreigners.” 

There certainly was a swarthy man there, and, though 
I had no reason for it then, somehow my heart died 
within me at the sight of him. 

‘‘Don’t be alarmed, sir,” cried the Colonel, “the 
dog wo-n’t bite you — unless there’s a hole in the hedge 
anywhere.” 

The stranger took off his small straw hat with a 
sweep. “ Ah, I am not afraid,” he said, and his accent 
proclaimed him a Frenchman, “he is not enrage at 
me. May I ask, is it pair meet to speak wiz Misterre 
Y ezzei-ed ? ” 

I felt I must deal with this person alone, for I feared : 
the worst ; and, asking them to excuse me, I went to j 
the hedge and faced the Frenchman with the frightful j 
calm of despair. He was a short, stout little man, with i 
blue cheeks, sparkling black eyes, and a vivacious wal- | 
nut-colored countenance; he wore a short black alpaca J 


THE BLACK P COBLE. 


57 


coat, and a large wliite cravat with an immense oval 
malacliite brooch in the centime of it, which I mention 
because I found myself staring mechanically at it dur- 
ing the interview. 

“My name is Weatherhead,’’ I began, with the bear- 
ing of a detected pickpocket. “ Can I be of any service 
to you ? ’’ 

“Of a great service,’’ he said emphatically; “yon 
can restore to me ze poodle vich I see zere ! ” 

JSTemesis had called at last in the shape of a rival 
claimant. I staggered for an instant ; then I said, 
“ Oh, I think you are under a mistake — that dog is not 
mine.” 

“I know it,” he said; “ zere ’as been leetle mistake, 
so if ze dog is not to you, you give him back to me, 
hein f ” 

“ I tell you,” I said, “ that poodle belongs to the 
gentleman over there.” And I pointed to the Colonel, 
seeing that it was best now to bring him into the aifair 
without delay. 

“ You are wrong,” he said doggedly ; “ ze poodle is 
my poodle ! And I was direct to you — it is your name 
on ze carte ! ” And he presented me with that fatal 
card which I had been foolish enough to give to Blagg 
as a proof of my identity. I saw it all now ; the old 
villain had betrayed me, and to earn a double reward 
had put the real owner on my track. 

I decided to call the Colonel at once, and attempt 
to brazen it out with the help of his sincere belief in 
the dog. 

“Eh, what’s that; what’s it all about?” said the 
Colonel, bustling up, followed at intervals by the others. 


38 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


The Frenchman raised his liat again. do not 
vant to make a trouble,” he began, but zere is leetle 
mistake. My word of honor, sare, I see my owm 
poodle in your garden. Yen I appeal to zis gentilman 
to restore Tin he refl’er me to you.” 

“ You must allow me to know my own dog, sir,” said 
the Colonel. Why, I’ve liad him from a pup. Bingo, 
old boy, you know jmur master, don’t you ? ” 

But the brute ignored him altogether, and began to 
leap wTldly at the hedge, in frantic efforts to join the 
Frenchman. It needed no Solomon to decide his owner- 
ship ! 

“ I tell you, you ’ave got ze wrong poodle — it is my 
own dog, my Azor ! lie remember me well, you see ? 
I lose liiih it is three, four days. ... I see a nottice 
zat he is found, and ven I go to ze address zey tell me, 
“ Oh, he is reclaim, he is gone wiz a strangaire wdio has 
advertise.” Zey show me ze placard, I follow ’ere, and 
ven I arrive, I see my poodle in ze garden before me ! ” 
“But look here,” said the Colonel, impatiently; “it’s 
all very well to say that, but how can you prove it ? I 
give you wy word that the dog belongs to You 

must prove your claim, eh, Travers? ” 

“ Yes,” said Travers, judicially, “mere assertion is no 
proof: it’s oath against oath, at present.” 

“Attend an instant — your poodle was he ’ighly train, 
liad he some talents — a dog viz tricks, eh ? ” 

“ Ho, he’s not,” said the Colonel ; “ I don’t like to see 
dogs taught to play the fool — there’s none of that non- 
sense about him.^ sir ! ” 

“ Ah, i-emark him well, then. Azor, mon chou, danse 
done un pen ! ” 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


89 


And on the foreigner’s whistling a lively air, that in- 
fernal poodle rose on his hind legs and danced solemnly 
about half-way round the garden ! We inside followed 
his movements with disma3\ “ Wi^y? dash it all ! ” cried 
the disgusted Colonel, “ he’s dancing along like a 
d d mountebank ! But it’s my Bingo for all that ! ” 

‘‘ You are not convince? You shall see more. Azor, 
ici ! Pour Beesmarck, Azor ! ’’(the poodle barked fero- 
ciously). “Pour Gambetta ! ” (he wagged his tail and 
began to leap with joy). “ Meurs pour la Patrie ! ” 
— and the too-accomplished animal rolled over as if 
killed in battle ! 

“Where could Bingo liave picked up so much 
French ! ” cried Lilian, incredulously. 

“Or so much French history?” added that serpent 
Travers. 

“ Shall I command ’im to jomp, or reverse ’imself ? ” 
inquired the obliging Frenchman. 

“We’ve seen that, thank you,” said the Colonel, 
gloomily. “ Upon my word, I don’t know what to think. 
It can’t be that that’s not my Bingo after all — I’ll never 
believe it ! ” 

I tried a last desperate stroke. “ W ill you come round 
to the front ? ” I said to the Frenchman ; “ I’ll let you in, 
and we can discuss the matter quietly.” Then, as we 
walked back together, I asked him eagerly what he 
Avould take to abandon his claims and let the Colonel 
think the poodle was his after all. 

He was furious— he considered himself insulted ; with 
great emotion he informed me that the dog was the 
pride of his life (it seemed to be the mission of black 
poodles to serve as domestic comforts of this priceless 


40 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


kind !), that he would not part with him for twice his 
weight in gold. 

“Figure,” he began, as we joined the others, “zat 
zis gentilman ’ere ’as offer me money for ze dog ! He 
agrees zat it is to me, you see ? Yer well zen, zere is no 
more to be said ! ” 

“"Why, Weatherhead, have yo^t lost faith too, then ? ” 
said the Colonel. 

I saw that it was no good — all I wanted now was to 
get out of it creditably and get rid of the Frenchman. 
“ I’m sorry to say,” I replied, “ that I’m afraid I’ve been 
deceived by the extraordinary likeness. I don’t think, 
on reflection, that that is Bingo ! ” 

“What do you think, Travers?” asked the Colonel. 

“Well, since you ask me,” said Travers, with quite 
unnecessary dryness, “ I never did think so.” 

“ Hor I,” said the Colonel ; “ I thought from the first 
that was never my Bingo. Why, Bingo would make 
two of that beast 1 ” 

And Lilian and her annt both pi-otested that they had 
had their doubts from the flrst. 

“ Zen you pairineet zat I remove ’im ? ” said the 
Frenchman. 

“ Certainly,” said the Colonel; and after some apolo- 
gies on our part for the mistake, he went off in triumph, 
with the detestable poodle frisking after him. 

When he had gone the Colonel laid his hand kindly 
on my shoulder. “ Don’t look so cut up about it, my 
boy,” he said ; “ you did your best — there was a sort of 
likeness, to any one who didn’t know Bingo as we did.” 

Just then the Frenchman again appeared at the hedge. 
“ A thousand pardons,” he said, “ but I find zis upon 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


41 


my dog — it is not to me. Suffer me to restore it viz 
many compliments.’' 

It was Bingo’s collar. Travers took it from liis hand 
and brought it to us. 

“ This was on the dog wlien you stopped that fellow, 
didn’t you say ? ” he asked me. 

One more lie— and I was so weary of falsehood ! 
‘‘ Y-yes,” 1 said reluctantly, “that was so.” 

“Yery extraordinary,” said Travers; “that’s the 
wrong poodle beyond a doubt, but when he’s found, he’s 
wearing the right dog’s collar ! Now how do you ac- 
count for that ? ” 

“My good fellow,” I said impatiently, “I’m not in 
the witness-box. I canH account for it. It — it’s a mere 
coincidence ! ” 

“Blit look here, my dear Weatherhead,” argued 
Travers (whether in good faith or not I never could 
quite make out), “ don’t you see what a tremendously 
important link it is ? Here’s a dog who (as I understand 
the facts) had a silver collar, with his name engraved on 
it, round his neck at the time he was lost. Here’s that 
identical collar turning up soon afterwards round the 
neck of a totally different dog! We must follow this 
up ; we must get at the bottom of it somehow ! With 
a clue like this, we’re sure to find out, either the dog 
himself, or what’s become of him ! Just try to recol- 
lect exactly what happened, there’s a good fellow. This 
is just the sort of thing I like I ” 

It was the sort of thing I did not enjoy at all. “You 
must excuse me to-night, Travers,” I said uncomfort- 
ably ; “ you see, just now it’s rather a sore subject for 
me — and I’m not feeling very well ! ” I was grateful 


42 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


just then for a reassuring glance of pity and confidence 
from Lilian’s sweet eyes which revived iny drooping 
spirits for the moment. 

Yes, we’ll go into it to-morrow, Travers,” said the 
Colonel ; and then — hnllo, why, there’s that confounded 
Frenchman again ! ” 

It was indeed; he came prancing back delicately, 
with a malicious enjoyment on his wrinkled face. 
“ Once more I return to apologise,” he said. My 
poodle ’as permit ’imself ze graye indiscretion to make a 
very big ’ole at ze bottom of ze garden ! ” 

I assured him that it was of no consequence. “Per- 
haps,” he replied, looking steadily at me through his 
keen half-shut eyes, “ you vill not say zat ven you re- 
gard ze ’ole. And you others, I spik to you : somtimes 
von loses a somzing vich is qvite near all ze time. It 
is ver droll, eh ? my vord, ha, ha, ha ! ” And he am- 
bled off, Muth an aggressively fiendish laugh that chilled 
my blood. 

“ What the dooce did he mean by that, eh ? ” said the 
Colonel, blankly. 

“ Don’t know,” said Travers ; “ suppose we go and 
inspect the hole ? ” 

But before that I had contrived to draw near it my- 
self, in deadly fear lest the Frenchman’s last words had 
contained some innuendo which I had not understood. 

It was light enough still for me to see something, at 
the unexpected horror of which I very nearly fainted. 

That thrice accursed poodle which I had been insane 
enough to attempt to foist upon the Colonel must, it 
seems, have buried his supper the night before very iK3ar 
the spot in which I had laid Bingo, and in his attempts 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


43 


to exluime liis bone had brought the remains of mj vic- 
tim to tlie surface ! 

There the corpse lay, on the very top of the excava- 
tions. Time had not, of course, improved its appearance, 
wliich was ghastly in the extreme, but still plainly recog- 
nisable by the eye of affection . 

“ It’s a very ordinary hole,” I gasped, putting myself 
before it and trying to turn them back. “ Nothing in 
it— nothing at all ! ” 

“ Except one Algernon Weatherhead, Esq., eh ? ” 
whispered Ti-avers jocosely in my ear. 

“No, but,” persisted the Colonel, advancing, “look 
here ! Has the dog damaged any of your shrubs ? ” 

“ No, no ! ” I cried piteously, “ quite the revei’se. 
Let’s all go indoors now ; it’s getting so cold ! ” 

“ See, there is a shrub or something uprooted 1 ” said 
the Colonel, still coming nearer that fatal hole. “ Whjq 
hullo, look there ! What’s that ? ” 

Lilian who was by his side, gave a slight scream. 
“ Uncle,” she cried, “it looks like — like Bingo 

The Colonel turned suddenly upon me, “ Do you 
hear ? ” he demanded, in a choked voice. “ You hear 
what she says ? ' Can’t you speak out ? Is that our 
Lingo ? ” 

I gave it up at last ; I only longed to be allowed to 
crawl away under something! “ Yes,” I said in a dull 
whisper, as I sat down heavily bn a garden seat, “ yes 
that’s Bingo . . . misfortune . 

shoot him . . . quite an accident ! ” 

There was a terrible explosion after that ; they saw 
at last how I had deceived them, and put the very 
worst construction upon everything. Even now I 


44 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


writhe impoteiitly at times, and my clieeks smart and 
tingle with humiliation, as I recall that scene — the 
Colonel’s very plain speaking, Lilian’s passionate re- 
proaches and contempt, and her aunt’s speechless pros- 
tration of disappointment. 

I made no attempt to defend myself ; I was not per- 
haps the complete villain they deemed me, but I felt 
fully that no doubt it all served me perfectly right. 

Still I do not think 1 am under any obligation to put 
their remarks down in black and white here. 

Travers had vanished at the first opportunity — 
whether out of delicacy, or the fear of breaking out 
into unseasonable mirth, I cannot say ; and shortly 
afterwards the others came to where I sat silent with 
bowed head, and bada me a stern and final farewell. 

And then, as the last gleam of Lilian’s white dress 
vanished down the garden path, I laid my head down 
on the table amongst the coffee-cups and cried like a 
beaten child. 

I got leave as soon as I could and went abroad. 
The morning after my return I noticed, while shaving, 
that there was a small square marble tablet placed 
against the wall of the Colonel’s garden. I got my 
opera-glass and read — and pleasant reading it was — the 
following inscription : — 

IN AFFECTR)NATE memoey 
OF 

BINGO, 

SECRETLY AND CRUELLY PUT TO DEATH, 

IN COLD BLOOD, 

BY A 

NEIGHBOR AND FRIEND. 

June, 1881. 


THE BLACK POODLE. 


45 


If tins explanation of mine ever reaches my neigh- 
bors’ eyes, I humbly hope they will have the humanity 
either to take away or tone down that tablet. They 
cannot conceive what I suffer, when curious visitors in- 
sist, as they do every day, in spelling out the words 
from our windows, and asking me countless questions 
about them ! 

Sometimes I meet the Curries about the village, and, 
as they pass me with averted heads, I feel myself grow- 
ing crimson. Travers is almost always with Lilian 
now. ITe has given her a dog — a fox-terrier — and they 
take ostentatiously elaborate precautions to keep it out 
of my garden, 

I should like to assure them here that they need not 
be under any alarm. I have shot one dog. 


THE STOEY OP A SUGAR PRINCE. 


A TALE FOR CHILDREN. 


Op course he may have been really a fairy prince, 
and I should be sorry to contradict any one who chose 
to say so. For he was only about three inches high, he 
had rose-pink cheeks and bright yellow curling locks, 
he wore a doublet and hose which fitted him perfectly, 
and a little cap and feather, all of delicately contrasted 
shades of blue — and this does seem a fair description of 
a fairy prince. 

But then he was painted — very cleverly — but still only 
painted, on a slab of prepared sugar, and his back was 
a plain white blank ; while the regular fairies all have 
more than one side to them, and I am obliged to say 
that I never before happened to come across a real fairy 
prince who was nothing but paint and sugar. 

For all that he may, as I said before, have been a 
fairy prince, and whether he was or not does not mat- 
ter in the least — for he at any rate quite believed he 
was one. 

As yet there had been very little romance or enchant- 
ment in his life, which, as far as he could remember, 
had all been spent in a long shop, full of sweet and sub- 
tle scents, where the walls were lined with looking-glass 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR FRINGE. 


47 


and fitted with shelves on which stood rows of glass jars, 
containing pastilles and jujubes of every color, shape, 
and fiavor in the world — a shop where, in suininer, a 
strange machine for making cooling drinks gurgled and 
sputtered all day long, and in winter, the large plate- 
glass windows were filled with boxes made of painted 
silk from Paris, so charmingly expensive and useless 
that rich people bought them eagerly to give to one 
another. 

The prince generally lay on one of the counters be- 
tween two beds of sugar roses and violets in a glass case, 
on either side of which stood a figure of highly colored 
plaster. 

One was a major of some unknown regiment; he had 
an immense head, with goggling eyes and a very red 
complexion, aud this head would unscrew so that he 
could be filled with comfits, which, though it hurt him 
fearfullj^ every time this was done, he was proud of, 
because it always astonished people. 

The other figure was an old brown gipsy woman in a 
red cloak and a striped petticoat, with a head which, 
although it wouldn’t take olf, was always nodding and 
grinning mysteriously from morning till night. 

It was to her that the prince (for we shall have to call 
liim “ the prince,” as I don’t know his other name — if 
he ever had one) owed all his notions of Fairyland and 
his high birth. 

You let the old gipsy alone for knowing a prince 
when she sees one,” she would say, nodding at him with 
encom-agement. “ They’ve kept you out of your rights 
all this time ; but wait a while, and see if one of these 
clumsy giants that are always bustling in and out doesn’t 


48 


Tim STORY OR A SUGAR PRINCE. 


help you ; you’ll be restored to your kingdom, never 
fear ! ” 

But the major used to get angry at her prophecies: 

It’s all nonsense,” he used to say, the boy’s no more 
a prince than I am, and he’ll never be noticed by any- 
body, unless he learns to unscrew liis head and hold 
comfits — like a soldier and a gentleman ! ” 

However, the prince believed the gipsy, and every 
morning, as the shutters were taken down, and gray 
mist, brilliant sunshine, or brown fog stole into the close 
shop, he wondered whether the day had come which 
would see his restoration to his kingdom. 

And at last the dav reallv came ; some one who had 
been buying sugar violets and roses noticed the prince 
in the middle of them and bought him too, to his im- 
mense delight. “ What did the old gipsy tell you, eh ? ” 
said the old woman, wagging her head wisely; ‘‘you 
see, it has all come true ! ” 

Even the major was convinced now, for, before the 
prince had been packed up, he whispered to him that if 
at any time he wanted a cominander-in-chief, why, he 
knew where to send for him. “Yes, I will remember,” 
said the prince ; “ and you,” lie added to the gipsy, 
“you shall be my pilme minister!” — for he was so 
ignorant of politics that he actually thought an old 
woman could be prime minister. 

And then, before lie could finish saying good-bye 
and hearing their congratulations, he was covered with 
several wrappers of white paper and plunged into 
complete darkness, which he did not mind at all, he 
was so happy. 

After that he remembered no more until he was un- 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


49 


wrapped and placed upright on the top of a dazzling 
white dome which stood in the very centre of a long 
plain, where a host of the strangest forms were scat- 
tered about in bewildering confusion. 

On each side of him tall twisted trunks of sparkling 
glass and silver sprang high into the air, and from their 
tops the cool green branches swayed gently dowm, while 
round their bases velvet-petalled flowers bloomed in a 
bed of soft moss. 

Farther awaj^, an exquisite temple, made of a sort of 
delicate gold-colored crystal, rose out of the crowd of 
gorgeous things that surrounded it, and this crowd, as 
the prince’s e3^e3 became accustomed to the splendor, 
gradually separated itself into various forms of loveli- 
ness. 

He saw high curiously moulded masses of transparent 
amber, within which ruby and emerald gems glowed 
dimly ; mounds of rose-flushed snow, and blocks of 
creaiii}^ marble ; and in the space between these were 
huge platforms of silver and porcelain, on which 
were piled heaps of treasures that he knew must be 
priceless, though he could not guess what they were all 
used for. 

But amidst all these were certain grim shapes ; some 
seemed to be the carcases of fearful beasts, whose heads 
had all been struck off, but who had evidently shown 
such courage in death that they had earned the respect 
of the brave hunters who had vanquished them— for 
rosettes had been pinned on their rough breasts, and 
their stiffened limbs were bound together by bright- 
lined ribbons. 

Then there was one monstrous head of some brute 
4 


50 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


larger still, which could not have been quite killed even 
then, for its tawny eyes were still glaring with fury — 
the prince could easily have stood upright between its 
grinning jaws if he had wanted to do so ; but he had 
no intention of doing any such thing, for though he 
was quite as brave as most fairy princes he was not fool- 
hardy. 

And there were big enchanted castles with no doors 
nor windows in them, and inhabited by restless monsters 
— dragons most likely — who had thrust their scaly black 
claws through the roofs. 

Perhaps he was a little frightened by some of the 
ugliest shapes at first, but he soon grew used to them, 
and had no room for any other feelings than pride and 
joy. For this was Fairyland at last, stranger and more 
beautiful than anything he could have dreamed of — he 
had come into his kingdom ! 

He was going to live in that lacework palace ; those 
dragons would come fawning out of their lairs presently, 
and do homage to him ; these formidable dead creatures 
had been slain to do him honor ; and he was the right- 
ful owner of all these treasures of gold, and silk, and 
gems. 

He must not forget, he thought, that he owed it all to 
the good-natured giants who had brought him here ; no, 
when they came in — as of course they would — to pay 
their respects, he would thank them graciously and re- 
ward them liberally out of his new wealth. 

There was a silver giraffe, stiff and old-fashioned, 
under a palm-tree hard by, which must have guessed, 
from the prince’s proud gay smile, that he was deceiving 
himself and had no idea of his real position. 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


51 


But the giraffe did not make any attempt to warn 
him, either because it liad seen so many things all round 
it consumed in its day that the selfish fear that it too 
would be cut up and handed round some evening kept 
it preoccupied and silent, or else because, being only 
electro-plated and hollow inside, it had no feelings of 
any kind. 

By-and-by the doors opened, and delicious bursts of 
music floated into the room, mingled with scraps of con- 
versation and ripples of fresh laughter ; servants came 
noiselessly in and increased the glare of a kind of sun 
that hung above the plain, and a host of smaller lights 
suddenly started up and shone softly through shades of 
silk and paper. 

The music stopped, the laughter and voices grew 
louder and came nearer, there was the sound of ap- 
proaching feet — and then a whole army of mortals sur- 
rounded the prince’s kingdom. 

They were a far smaller and finer race than the giants 
lie had seen hitherto, with pretty fresh complexions, 
and wearing, some of them, soft shimmering dresses 
that he thought only fairies ever wore. After a little 
confusion, they ranged themselves in one long line 
completely round the plain ; the taller beings glided 
softly about behind, and the prince prepared himself 
to receive their congratulations with proper dignity and 
modesty. 

But these giants certainly had very odd ways of 
showing their loyalty, for they saluted him with a 
clinking and clattering so deafening that they would 
have drowned the noise of a million gnomes forging 
fairy armor, while every now and then came a loud 


52 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


report, after which a golden sparkling cascade fell 
creaming and bubbling from somewhere above into the 
crystal reservoirs prepared for it. 

It was all veiw gratifying, no doubt — and yet, though 
they all pretended to be honoring him, no one seemed 
to pay him any more particular attention ; he thought 
perliaps they might be feeling abashed in his presence, 
and that he must manage to reassure them. 

But while he was thinking how he could best do this, 
he began to be aware that along the whole of that glit- 
tering plain things were being done without his permis- 
sion which were scandalous and insulting — he saw the 
grisly carcases cut swiftly into pieces with dashing 
blades, or torn limb from limb deliberately ; all the 
dragons were' attacked and overpowered, and hauled out 
unresisting from their strongholds ; even the fierce head 
was gashed hideously behind the ears ! 

He tried to speak and ask them what they meant by 
such audacity, but he could not make them hear as he 
could the major and the old gipsy ; so he was obliged 
to look on while one by one the trophies dedicated to 
his glory were changed to shapeless heaps of ruin. 

And, unless he was mistaken, the greater part of 
them were actually disappearing from sight altogether ! 
It seemed impossible, for where could they all go to ? 
and yet nothing now remained of the huge carcases but 
a meagre framework of bone, hanging together by 
shreds of skin ; the strong castles w^ere roofiess walls 
with gaping breaches in them ; and could it be that the 
more attractive objects ^vere beginning to melt away in 
the same mysterious manner? Was it enchantment, or 
how — how on earth 'did they manage to do it ? 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR FRINGE. 


53 


lie was no happier when he found out— for tliough, 
of course, to eating is quite an ordinary everyday 
affair, only think what a shock the first sight of it must 
have been to a delicate fairy prince, whose mouth was 
simply a cherry-colored curve, and not made to open on 
any terms ! 

He saw all the treasures he had looked upon as his 
very own being lifted to a long line of mouths of all sizes 
and shapes ; the mouths opened to various widths, and — 
the treasures vanished, he could not tell how or where. 

The mellow amber tottered and quivered for a while 
and was gone ; even the solid creamy marble was hacked 
in pieces and absorbed ; nothing, however beautiful or 
fantastic, escaped instant annihilation between those 
terrible bars of scarlet and hashing ivory. 

Could this be Fairyland, this plain where all things 
beautiful were doomed — or had they brought him back 
to his kingdom only to make this cruel fun of him, and 
destroy his riches one by one before his eyes ? 

But before he could find any answers to these sad 
questions he chanced to look straight in front of him, 
and there he saw a face which made his little sugar 
heart almost melt within him, with a curious feeling, 
half pleasure, half pain, that was quite new to him. 

It was a girPs face, of course, and the prince had not 
looked at her very long before he forgot all about his 
kingdom. 

He was relieved to see that she at least was too gen- 
erous to join in the work of destruction that was going 
on all around her — indeed, she seemed to dislike it as 
much as he did himself, for only a little of the tinted 



54 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


]^ow and then she laughed a little silvery laugh, and 
shook out her rippling gold-brown hair at something 
the being next to her said — a great boy-mortal, with a 
red face, bold eyes, and grasping brown hands, which 
were fatal to everything within their range. 

How the prince did hate that boy ! — he found to his 
joy that he could understand what they said, and began 
to listen jealously to their conversation. 

I say,” the boy (whose name, it seemed, was Bertie) 
was saying, as he received a plateful of floating frag- 
ments of tlie lacework palace, you aren’t eating any- 
thing, Mabel. Don’t you care about suppers ? Zdo.” 

‘‘ I’m not hungry,” &he said, evidently feeling this a 
distinction ; I’ve been out so much this fortnight.” 

“ How jolly ! ” he observed, I only wish I had. 
But I say,” he added, confldentially, “ won’t they make 
■you take a gray powder soon ? They would 

“ I’m never made to take anything at all nasty,” she 
said — and the prince was indignant that any one should 
have dai'ed to think otherwise. 

“ I suppose,” continued the boy, “ you didn’t manage 
to get any of that cake the conjurer made in Uncle 
John’s hat, did you ? ” 

No, indeed,” she said, and made a little face ; “ I 
don’t think I should like cake that came out of any- 
body’s hat ! ” 

“ It was very decent cake,” he said ; I got a lot of 
it. I was afraid it might spoil my appetite for supper 
— but it hasn’t.” 

"What a very greedy boy you are, Bertie,” she re- 
marked ; I suppose you could eat anything f ” ■ 

At home I think I could, pretty ne^ly,” he said, 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


65 


with a proud confidence, but not at old Tokoe’s, I 
can’t. Tokoe’s is where I go to school, you know. I 
can’t stand the resurrection -pie on Saturdays — all the- 
week they save up the bones and rags and things, and 
when it comes up ” 

“ I don’t want to hear,” she interrupted ; you talk 
about nothing but horrid things to eat, and it isn’t a bit 
interesting.” 

Bertie allowed himself a brief interval for refresh- 
ment unalloyed by conversation, after which he began 
again : Mabel, if they have dancing after supper, 

dance with me.” 

“ Are you sure you know how to dance ? ” she in- 
quired rather fastidiously. 

“ Oh, I can get through all right,” he replied. “ I’ve 
learnt. It’s not harder than drilling. I can dance the 
Highland Schottische and the Swedish dance, any- 
way.” 

“ xlny one can dance those. I don’t call that danc- 
ing,” she said. 

“Well, but try me once, Mabel; say you will,” said 
he. 

“ I don’t believe they will have dancing,” she said ; 
“ there are so many very young children here and they 
get in the way so. But I hope there won’t be any more 
games— games are stupid.” 

“Only to girls,” said Bertie ; “girls never care about 
any fun.” 

“ 'Not your kind of fun,” she said, a little vaguely. 
“ I don’t mind hide-and-seek in a nice old house with 
long passages and dark corners and secret panels — and 
ghosts even — that’s jolly ; but I don’t care much about 


66 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


running round and round a row of silly chairs, trying to 
sit down when the music stops and keep other people 
out — I call it rude.” 

“ You didn’t seem to think it so rude just now,” he 
retorted ; “ you were laughing quite as much as any 
one ; and I saw you push young Bobby Meekin off the 
last chair of all, and sit on it yourself, anyhow.” 

“ Bertie, you didn’t,” she cried, flushing angrily. 

“ I did though.” 

But I tell you I didnH I ” 

“ And 1 say you did ! ” 

“ If you will go on saying I did, when I’m quite sure 
I never did anything of the sort,” she said, “ please 
don’t speak to me again ; I shan’t answer if you do. 
And I think you’re a particularly ill-bred boy — not 
polite, like my brothers.” 

“ Your brothers are every bit as rude as I am. If 
they aren’t, they’re milksops — I should be sorry to be a 
milksop.” 

“ brothers are not milksops — they could fight 
you ! ” she cried, wdth a little defiant ring in her voice 
that the prince thought perfectly charming. 

As if a girl knew anything about fighting,” said 
Bertie ; why, I could fight y^our brothers all stuck in 
a row ! ” 

“ That you couldn’t,” from Mabel, and “ I could 
then, so now ! ” from Bertie, until at last Mabel refused 
to answer any more of Bertie’s taunts, as they grew 
decidedly offensive ; and, finding that she took refuge 
in disdainful silence, he consumed tart after tart with 
gloomy determination. 

And then all at once, Mabel having nothing to do, 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR FRINGE. 


67 


clianced to look across to the white dome on which the 
prince was standing, and she opened her beantifnl gray 
eyes with a pleased surprise as she saw him. 

All this time the prince had been falling deeper and 
deeper in love with her ; at first he had felt almost cer- 
tain that she was a princess and his destined bride ; he 
was rather small for her, certainly, though he did not 
know how very much smaller he was ; hut Fairyland, he 
had always been told, was full of resources — he could 
easily be filled out to her size, or, better still, she might 
be brought down to his. 

But he had begun to give up these wild fancies al- 
ready, and even to fear that she would go away without 
having once noticed him ; and now she was looking at 
him as if she found him pleasant to look at, as if she 
would like to know him. 

At last, evidently after some struggle, she turned to 
the offending Bertie, and spoke his name softly ; but 
Bertie could not give up the luxury of sulking with her 
all at once, and so he looked another way. 

“ Is it Pax, Bertie ? ’’ she asked. (She had not had 
brothers for nothing.) 

“ No, it isn’t,” said Bertie. 

Oh, you want to sulk ? I thought only girls sulked,” 
she said ; “ but it doesn’t matter, I only wanted to tell 
you something.” 

Flis curiosity was too much for his dignity. “Well — 
what ? ” he asked, gruffly enough. 

“Only,” she said, “that I’ve been thinking over 
things, and I dare say you could fight my brothers — • 
only not all together— and I’m not sure that Charlie 
wouldn’t beat you.” 


58 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


“Charlie! I could settle him in live miiintes,” mut- 
tered Bertie, only half appeased. 

“ Oh, not mjive., Bertie,” cried Mabel, “ ten, perhaps ; 
but you’d never want to, would yon, when he’s my 
brother ? And now,” she added, “ we’re friends again, 
aren’t we, Bertie ? ” 

He was a cynic in his way — “ I see,” he said, “ you 
want something out of me ; you should have thought 
of that before you quarrelled, you know ! ” 

Mabel contracted her eyebrows and bit her lip for a 
moment, then she said meekly — 

“ I know I should, Bertie ; but I thought perhaps 
you wouldn’t mind doing this for me. I can ask the boy 
on my other side — he’s a stupid-looking boy, and I don’t 
care about knowing him— still, if you won’t do it ” • 

“ 0h, well, I don’t mind,” he said, softened at once. 
“ What is it you want ? ” 

“Bertie,” she whispered breathlessly, “ you’ll be quite 
a nice boy if you’ll only get me that dear little sugar 
prince off the cake there ; you can reach him better than 
1 can, and — and I don’t quite like to — only, be quick, or 
some one else will get him first.” 

And in another second the enraptured prince found 
himself lying on her plate ! 

“ Isn’t he lovely ? ” she cried. 

“Not bad,” said Bertie; “give us a bit — /got him 
for you, you know.” 

‘^Give you a hit she cried, with the keenest horror 
and disgust. “ Bertie 1 you don’t really think I wanted 
him to — to eat.” 

“ Oh, the paint doesn’t matter,” he said ; “ I’ve eaten 
lots of them.” 


TEE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


59 


“ You really are too horrid,” she said ; “ all yon think 
about is eating things. I can’t bear greedy boys. I 
won’t have anything to do with you any more ; after 
this we’ll be perfect strangers.” 

He stared helplessly at her ; he had made friends and 
done all she asked of him, and just because he begged 
for a share in the spoil, she had treated him like this ! 
It was too bad of her — it served him right for bothering 
about a girl. 

He would have told her what he thought about it, 
only just then there was a general rising. The prince 
was carried tenderly up-stairs, entrusted with many 
cautions to a trim maid, and laid to rest wrapped in a 
soft lace handkerchief upon a dressing-table, to dream 
of the new life in store for him to the accompaniment 
of faintlv heard music and laughter from below. 

lie had given up all his old ideas of recovering his 
kingdom and marrying a princess — very likely he might 
jiot be a fairy prince after all, and he felt now that he 
did not very much care if he wasn’t. 

He was going to be Mabel’s for evermore, and that 
was worth all Fairyland to him. How bewitching her 
anger had been when Bertie suspected her of wanting 
the prince for her own eating. (The prince had already 
found out that eating meant the way in which these 
ruthless mortals made everything beautiful pass away 
between their sharp teeth.) 

She had pitied and protected him; might she not 
some day come to love him ? If he had only known 
what a little sugai* fool he was making of himself, I 
think he would certainly have dissolved into syrup for 
very rdiame. 


60 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


Mabel came up to fetch him at last ; they had fastened 
something white and fleecy round her head and shoul- 
ders, and her face was flushed and her eyes seemed a 
darker gray as slie took liim out of the handkerchief, 
with a cry of delight at flnding him quite safe, and hur- 
]ied down-stairs with him. 

While she was waiting in the hall for her carriage, 
the prince heard the last of Bertie ; he came up to lier 
and whispered spitefully, “ Well, you’ve kept your word, 
you’ve not looked at me since supper, all because I 
thought you meant to eat that sugar thing off the cake ! 
Now I just tell you this — you needn’t pretend you don’t 
like sweets — I wouldn’t give much for that flgui-e’s last- 
ing a week, noiv I ” 

She only glanced at him with calm disdain, and passed 
on under the awning to her carriage, where her broth- 
ers were waiting for her, and Bertie was left with a 
recollection that would make his flrst fortnight under 
old Tokoe’s roof even bitterer than usual to him. 

What a deliciously dreamy drive home that was for 
the prince ; he lay couched on Mabel’s soft palm, 
thinking how cool and satiny it was, and how different 
from the hot coarse hands which had touched him 
hitherto. 

She said nothing to her brothers, who were curled 
up, gray indistinct forms, opposite ; she sat quietly at 
the side of the servant who had come to fetch them, 
and now and then in the faint light the prince could 
see hei* smiling with half-shut sleepy eyes at some 
pleasant recollection. 

If that drive could only have gone on for ever I but 
it came to an end soon, very soon. 


61 


THE STOUT OF A SUGAH PEUSTCE. 

A little later his tired little protectress placed him 
where she could see him when first she awoke the next 
day, and all that night the prince stood on guard upon 
the high mantelpiece in the night nursery, thinking of 
the kiss, half-childish and half-playful, she had given 
him just before she left him at his post. 

The next morning Mabel woke up tired, and, if it 
must be confessed, a little cross ; but the prince thought 
she looked lovelier than even on the night before, in her 
plain dark dress and fresh white pinafore and cross- 
bands. 

She took him down with her to breakfast, and sta- 
tioned him near her plate — and then he made a dis- 
covery. 

She, too, could make the solid things around her van- 
ish in the very way of which he thought she disap- 
proved so strongly ! 

It was done, as she seemed to do everything, very 
daintily and prettily — but still the things did disappear, 
somehow, and it was a shock. 

She called the attention of her governess — who was a 
pale lad}", with a very prominent forehead and round 
spectacles— to the prince’s good looks, and the gover- 
ness admitted that he was pretty, but cautioned Mabel 
not to eat him, as these highly colored confections in- 
variably contained deleterious matter, and were there- 
fore unwholesome. 

“ Oh,” said Mabel, defending her favorite with great 
animation, “ but not this one. Miss Pringle. Because I 
heard Mrs. Goodchild tell somebody last night tliat she 
was always so careful to get only sweets painted with 


02 


THE STOItY^OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


‘ pure vegetable colors,’ she called it. Bnt that 
wouldn’t matter— for of course I shall never want to eat 
this little man ! ” 

Oh, of course not,” said the governess, with a smile 
that struck the prince as being unpleasant — though he 
did not know exactly why, and he was glad to forget it 
in watching the play of Mabel’s pretty restless fingers 
on the table-cloth. 

By-and-by the nurse came in, carrying something 
which he had never seen anything at all like before, and 
which frightened him veiy much. It was called, as he 
soon found, a “ Baby,” and it goggled round it with 
glassy, meaningless eyes, and clucked fearfully some- 
where deep down in its throat, wdiile it stretched out 
feeble little wrinkled hands, exactly like yellow starfish. 

‘‘ There, tliere^ then ! ” said the nurse (which seems to 
be the right thing to say to a baby). ‘‘ See, Miss Mabel, 
he’s asking for that to play with.” 

Isow that happened to be the sugar prince. 

Mabel seemed completely in the power of this mon- 
ster, for she dared not refuse it anything ; she crossed 
almost timidly to it now, and laid the prince in one of 
its starfish, only entreating that nurse would not allow 
it to put him in its mouth. 

But the baby did not try to do this ; its vacant coun- 
tenance only creased into an idiotic grin, as it began to 
take a great deal of notice of him ; and its way of taking 
notice was to shake the prince violently up and down, 
till he was quite giddy. 

After doing this several times, it ducked him quite 
suddenly down, head-foremost, into the nearest cup of 
tea. 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


63 


The poor prince felt as if he were all softening and 
crumbling away into nothing, but it was only some of 
the paint coming off; and before he, could be ducked a 
second time, Mabel, with a cry of dismay, rescued him 
from the indignant baby, which howled in a dreadful 
manner. 

She dried him tenderly on her handkerchief, and 
then, as she saw the result, suddenly began to weep in- 
consolably herself. ‘‘ Oh, see what Baby’s done ! ” she 
gasped between her sobs ; “ all his lovely complexion 
ruined, spoilt ... I wish somebody would just 
spoil Baby’s face for him, and see how he likes it. 
. . . If he isn’t slapped at once — I’ll never love him 

again ! ” 

But nobodj" slapped the baby — it was soothed ; and, 
besides, all the slaps hand could bestow would not bring 
back the prince’s lost beauty. 

His face was all the colors of the rainbow now ; the 
yellow of his curls had run into his forehead, his brown 
eyes were smudged across his nose, and his cherry lips 
smeared upon his cheeks, while all the blue of his doub- 
let had spread up to his chin. 

He knew from what they were all saying that this 
had happened to him, but he did not mind it much, ex- 
cept at first ; he had never been vain of his beauty, and 
it was delightful to hear Mabel’s little tender laments 
over his misfortune ; so long as she cared for him as he 
was — -what did anything else matter ? 

In the school-room that morning he leaned against her 
writing-desk, and watched her turning fat books lazily 
over and inking her fair ffttle hands, until she shut 
them all up with an impatient bang and yawned. 


64 


THE STORY OF A SUGAR PRINCE. 


Why was it that at that precise moment the prince 
began to feel uncomfortable ? 

Is it near dirjner-time, Miss Pringle ? ” she asked. 
‘‘ I’m so awfully hungry ! ” 

The governess’s watch showed an hour more to wait. 

“I wonder if Comiitt would give me some cake if I 
ran down and asked her! ” said Mabel next. 

The governess thought Mabel had much better wait 
patiently till dinner-time without spoiling her appetite. 

‘‘ Oh, very well,” said Mabel ; “ what a bore it is to 
be hungry too soon, isn’t it ? ” 

Then she took the faded prince up and looked at him 
moiniif ull3^ “ What a shame of Baby ! ” she said ; “ I 
wanted to keep him always to look at — but I don’t see 
how I can very well now, do you. Miss Pilngle ? Do 
they make these things only for ornament, should you 
think ? ” 

‘‘•I think it is time you finished that exercise,” was all 
the governess replied. 

“Oh, I’ve almost done it,” said Mabel, “and I want 
just to ask this question (it comes under ‘general infor- 
mation,’ you know) — aren’t vegetable colors ‘ dilly- 
whatever-it-is ’ colors, I mean — harmless? And Dr. 
Harley said vegetables were so very good for me. I 
wonder if I might just taste him.” 

Here the prince’s dream ended : he saw it all at last — 
how she had petted and praised him only while he was 
pleasant to look at ; and now that was over — he was 
nothing more to her than something to eat. 

Presently he was lifted ^ntly between her slim finger 
and thumb to her lips, and touched caressingly by some- 
thing red and moist and warm behind them. It was 


THE STORY OF A SEGAR PRINCE. 


65 


not unpleasant exactly, so far, but be knew that worse 
was corning, and longed for her to make haste and get 
it over. 

Yanilla ! ” reported Mabel, “ that must be all right. 
Miss Pringle. Cook flavors corn-flour with it ! ” 

Miss Pringle shrugged her sharp shoulders: “You 
must use your own judgment, my dear,” was all she 
said. 

And then — I am sorry to have to tell wPat happened 
next, but this is a true story and I must go on — then the 
prince saw Mabel’s gray eyes looking at him from under 
their long lashes with interest for the last time, he saw 
two gleaming pearly rows closing upon him, he felt a 
sharp pang, of grief as well as pain, as they crunched him 
up into small pieces, and he slowly melted away and 
there was an end of him. 

There is a beautiful moral belonging to this story, but 
it is of no use to print it here, because it only applies to 
sugar princes — until Mabel is quite grown up. 

5 


THE KETUKN OF AOAMEMHOH. 


It was ten years since Agamemnon, the mighty Ar- 
give monarch, had left his kingdom (somewhat suddenly, 
and after a stormy interview with the Queen, as those 
said who had the best opportunities of knowing), with 
the avowed intention of going to assist at the siege of 
Troy. 

He had never written once since, but so many reports 
of his personal daring and his terrible wounds had 
reached the palace that Clytemnestra would often ob- 
serve, with a touch of annoyance, that, if not actually 
dead by that time, he must be nearly as full of holes as 
a fishing-net. 

So that she was scarcely surprised when they broke 
the intelligence to her one day that he really had gone 
at last, having fallen, fighting desperately, against the 
most fearful odds, upon the Trojan plain ; and when, a 
little later, she formally announced to her faithful sub- 
jects her betrothal to ^gisthus, her youngest and favor- 
ite courtier, they were not surprised in their turn. 

They told one another, with ribald facetiousness, that 
they had rather expected something of the kind. 

They were celebrating their Queen’s betrothal day 
with the wildest enthusiasm, for they were a simple, 
affectionate people, and foresaw an impetus to local 
trade. It had been but a dull time for Argos during 


THE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON. 


67 


those weary ten years, and the city had become well- 
nigh deserted, as, one by one, all her bravest and her 
best had left her, to seek, as they poetically put it, a 
soldier’s tomb.” 

Several married men, in whom no such patriotic en- 
thusiasm had ever been previously suspected, found out 
that their country required their services, left their wives 
and their little ones, and started for the field of battle. 
There were many pushing Argive tradesmen, too, who 
abandoned their business and sought — not ostentatiously, 
but with the self-effacement of true heroism — the seat 
of war upon which their sovereign had been sitting so 
long ; while the real extent of their devotion was seldom 
appreciated until long after their departure, when it was 
generally discovered that, in their eagerness, they had 
left their affairs in the greatest confusion. 

And very soon almost the only young men left were 
mild, unwarlike youths, who were respectable and wore 
spectacles, while the rest of the male population was 
composed of equal parts of prattling infants and dodder- 
ing octogenarians. 

This was a melancholy state of things — but then the 
absent ones wrote such capital letters home, containing 
such graphic descriptions of camp life and the fiercer 
excitements of night attacks and forlorn hopes, that the 
recipients ought to haye been amply consoled. 

They were not ; they only remarked that it seemed 
rather odd that the writers should so persistently forget 
to give their addresses, and that it was a singular circum- 
stance that while each letter purported to come direct 
from the Grecian lines, every envelope somehow bore a 
different postmark. And often would the older married 


68 


THBl RETURN OF AGAMEMNON 


women (and their mothers too) wish with infinite pathos 
that they could only just get the missing ones home and 
talk to them a little — that was all ! 

But all anxiety was forgotten in the celebration of the 
betrothal, for the Argives were determined to do the 
thing really well. So in the principal streets they had 
erected triumphal arches, typifying the chief local manu- 
factures, which were (as it is scarcely necessary to in- 
form the scholar) soda-water and cane-bottomed chairs ; 
and from these arches chairs and bottles were constantly 
dropping, like a gentle dew, upon the happy crowd 
which passed beneath. All the public fountains spouted 
a cheap dinner sherry like water — very like watei’,” 
said some disafi:ected persons ; householders were gra- 
ciously invited to exhibit flags and illuminations at their, 
own expense, and in the market-place a fowl was being 
roasted whole for the populace. 

All was gaiety, therefore, at sunset, when the citizens 
assembled in groups about the square in front of the 
palace, prepared to cheer the royal pair with enthusiasm 
when they deigned to show themselves upon the bal- 
cony. 

The well-meaning old gentlemen who formed the 
Chorus (for in those days every house of any position 
in society maintained a chorus, and even shabby-genteel 
families kept a serai-chorus in buttons) were twittering 
in a corner, prepared to come forth by-and-by with the 
ill-timed allusions, melancholy and depressing forebod- 
ings, and unnecessary advice, which were all that was 
expected of them, and the Mayor and Corporation were 
fussing about distractedly with a brass band and the in- 
evitable address. 


THE RETURN OF AOAMEMl^ON 


69 


All at once there was a stir in the crowd, and the 
eyes of every one were strained toward a tall and sway- 
ing scaffold on the roj’al house-top, where a small black 
figure, outlined sharply against the saffron sky, could be 
seen gesticulating wildly. 

‘‘ Look at the watchman ! ” they whispered, excitedly ; 

what can be the matter wdth him ? ” 

Now before Agamemnon left he had had fires laid 
upon all the mountain tops in a straight line between 
Argos and Troy, arranging to light the pile at the Troy 
end of the chain when it should become necessary to let 
them know at home that they might expect him back 
shortlj^ 

The watchman had been put up on a scaffold to look 
out for the beacon, and had been there for years day and 
night, without being once allowed to quit his post — even 
on his birthday. It was expected that Clytemnestra 
would have let him come down for good when she was 
informed of Agamemnon’s death on such excellent au- 
thority, but she would not hear of such a thing. She 
knew people would think it very foolish and sentimental 
of her, she said, but to take the watchman down would 
seem so like giving up all hope ! So she kept him up, 
a proof of her conjugal devotion wdiich touched every 
one — except perhaps the watchman himself. 

Clytemnestra and .^Egisthus, who had happened to 
come out while all this excitement was at its height, 
found themselves absolutely ignored. ‘‘ Not a single 
cap off — not one solitary hurray,” cried the Queen, with 
majestic anger. ‘‘ ^Yhat have you been doing to make 
yourself so unpopular with my loyal Argives ? ” she de- 
manded, suspiciously. 


70 THE BETURH OF AGAMEMNON. 

I don’t think it’s anything to do with me^ really,” 
protested ^gisthns, feebly. “They’re only looking the 
other way just now, and — can’t you see why?” he added 
suddenly, “ they'^ve lit the heacon on the top of Arach- 
nceus ! ” 

Clytemnestra looked, and started violently, as on the 
mountain-top in question a red tongue of flame shot up 
through the gathering dusk : “What does it mean?” she 
whispered, clutching him convulsively by the arm. 

“Well,” said ^gisthus, “ it looks to me, do you know, 
rather as if your late lamented husband has changed his 
mind about dying, and is on his way to your arms.” 

“ Then he is not dead ! ” exclaimed Clytemnestra. 
“ He is coming home. I shall look upon that face, hear 
that voice, press that hand once again ! How excessively 
annoying ! ” 

“ Confounded nuisance ! ” he agreed, heartily, but his 
irritation sounded slightly overdone, somehow. “Well, 
it’s all over with the betrothal after this; don’t you 
think it would be as well to get all the arches, and fire- 
works, and things out of the way? We shan’t want 
them now^ you know.” 

“ Why not ? ” said the Queen ; “ they will all do for 
liim ; he won’t know. Ye gods ! ” she cried, stretching 
out her arms with a tragic groan. “ Must i, too, do for 
him ? ” 

“ Any way,” said Hlgisthus, with an attempted ease, 
“you won’t want me any longer, and so, if you will 
kindly excuse me, I — I think I’ll retire to some quiet 
spot whither I can drag myself with my broken heart 
and bleed to death, like a wounded deer, don’t you 
know ! ” 


THE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON. 71 

“ You can do all that just as well here,” she replied. 
‘‘ I wish you to stay. Who knows what may happen ? ” 
— she added, with a sinister smile, We may be happy 
yet ! ” 

Clyternnestra’s sinister smiles always made ^gisthus 
feel exactly as if something was disagreeing with him 
— so he stayed. 

By this time the populace had also realized the turn 
affairs had taken, but they very sensibly determined 
that it was their plain duty to persevere with the merri- 
ment. They were, as has been mentioned before, a 
simple and affectionate people, and fond of their king ; 
so, as his return would be even more beneficial to 
trade than the betrothal, they rejoiced on, and there 
was nothing in the least strained or hollow in their 
revelry. 

And presently there was a fresh stir in the crowd, and 
then a rumbling of wheels as the covered chariot from 
the station rolled, amidst faint cheering, up to the palace 
gates, and was saluted by the one aged sentinel who 
stood on guard. 

‘‘ It is Agamemnon,” gasped the Queen ; “ he has 
come already— he must not find me unprepared. I will 
go Avithin.” 

She had just time to retire hastily, followed by ^gis- 
thus, before a short stout man in faded regimentals and 
a cocked hat with a moulting plume descended from the 
vehicle. 

The Chorus, finding it left to them to do the honors, 
advanced in a row, singing the ode of welcome, which 
they, had had in rehearsal ever since the first year of 
the war. 


72 - 


THE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON 


O King,’' they clianted in their cracked old trebles, 
‘‘ offspring of Atreus, and sacker of Troy ! ” 

“Will you kindly count the boxes ? ” interrupted the 
monarch, who hated sentiment ; “ there should be four 
— a tin cocked-hat box, two camel-hair trunks, and a 
carpet bag.” 

But a Greek chorus was not easily suppressed, and 
they broke out again all together, “Kay, but with burst- 
ing hearts would we bid thee thrice hail ! ” 

“ Once is ample, thank you,” said the King, with regal 
politeness ; “ and I should be really distressed if any of 
you were to burst on my account. Has anybody such a 
thing as half a drachma about him ? ” 

He heard no more of the ode, and the Maj^or thought 
it advisable to roll up his address and take his Corpora- 
tion home. 

Agamemnon had succeeded in borrowing the drachma, 
and had just turned his back to pay the driver as Cly- 
temnestra glided down the broad steps to the courtyard, 
and, striking an attitude, addressed nobody in particular 
in tones of rapturous joy. 

“ O happy day ! ” she cried very loudly, “ on which 
my hero husband returns to me after a long absence, quite 
unexpectedly. Henceforth shall his helmet rust upon 
the hat-stand, and his spear repose innocuous among 
the umbrellas, and his breastplate shall he replace by a 
chest-protector ; for a shield he shall have a sunshade, 
and instead of his sword he shall carry a spud. But 
now let me, as an exceptionally faithful wife, greet 

him before ye all with Agamemnon, will you have 

tlie goodness to tell me who that young person is in the 
chariot ? ” was her abrupt and somewhat lame conclusion. 


THE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON. 73 

“ Oh, there you are, eh ? ” said Agamemnon, turning 
round and presenting a forefinger. “ How de do, my 
love ; how de do ? ” 1 shan’t give you another obol ! ” 

he said to the driver, who seemed still unsatisfied.) 
“ So, you’re quite well, eh ? ” he resumed to his wife ; 

plenty to say for yourself, as usual. Gad, I feel as if I 
hadn’t been away a week — till I look at you .... 
Well, we can’t expect to be always jmung, can we ? So 
you want to know my little friend here ? Allow me to 
present her to you. One moment.” 

And bustling up to the chariot, he assisted from it a 
maiden with a pale face, great, wild, roving eyes, and 
hair of tawny gold, and led her back to his wife. 

“ The Princess Cassandra of Troy — my wife. Queen 
Clytemnestra. They tell me this young lady can pro- 
phesy very prettily, my dear,” he remarked. 

Clytemnestra bowed coldly, and said she was sure it 
would be vastly amusing. Did the Princess intend giv- 
ing any public entertainments ? 

“ She is our visitor,” Agamemnon put in, warningly ; 
while Cassandra smiled satirically, and said nothing at 
all. 

Clytemnestra hoped she might be able to induce her 
to stay longer, a week was such a very short time. 

She has kindly consented to stay on a little longer, 
my love,” said Agamemnon — “ all her life, in fact.” 

The Queen was charmed to hear it ; it was so very 
nice and kind of her, particularly as strangers were apt 
to find the neighborhood an unhealthy one. 

And as ^gisthns joined them just then, she presented 
him to the King, with the remark that he had been the 
most faithful and devoted of courtiers during the whole 


74 THE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON 

period of tlie King’s absence ; to wliicli Agamemnon re- 
plied, with the slightest of scowls, that he was delighted 
to make the acquaintance of Mr. ^gisthiis ; and after 
that no one seemed • to know exactly what to say for a 
minute or two. 

At last JEgisthus hazarded a supposition that the royal 
warrior had found it warm over at Troy. 

It varied, sir,” said the monarch, uncomfortably ; 

the climate varied. I used to get very warm fighting 
sometimes.” 

^gisthus agreed that a battle must be hot work, and 
Clytemnestra suddenly exclaimed that her husband was 
wearing the very same dear shabby old uniform he had 
on when he went away. 

“ The very same,” said Agamemnon, smiling. * I 
wore it all through the campaign. Your true warrior 
is no dandy ! ” 

“We were given to understand you were wounded,” 
remarked ACgisthus. 

“ Oh,” said the King, “ yes ; I was considerably 
wounded — all over the chest and arms. But what 
cared I ? ” 

“ Exactly,” said ^gisthus; “ and, curiously enough, 
the weapons don’t seem to have pierced your coat at 
all. I observe there are no patches.” 

“Ko,” the King replied,* “so you noticed that, eh? 
Well, the reason of that is that those fellows out there 
have a peculiar sort of way of cutting and slashing, so as 
to ” 

And he explained this by some elaborate illustrations 
with his sheathed sword, until ^gisthus said that he 
thought he understood how it was done. 


THE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON 


76 


But Clytemnestra suddenly, with a kitten-like girlish- 
ness that sat but ill upon her, pounced playfully upon 
the weapon. “ I w^ant to see it drawn,” she cried ; ‘‘I 
want to look upon the keen flashing blade which has 
penetrated the inmost recesses of so many of our coun- 
try’s foes. Oh, it won’t come out,” she added, as she 
attempted to pull it out of the scabbard ; ‘‘ do make it 
come out ! ” 

The King tried, but the blade stuck half way, and 
what was visible of it seemed thickly coated with rust ; 
but Agamemnon said it was gore, and his orderly must 
have forgotten to clean his accoutrements after the fall 
of Troy. He added that it was the effect of the sea air. 

“ Troy really has fallen, then ? ” asked JEgisthus. I 
suppose you stayed to see the thing out ? ” 

I did, sir,” answered the monarch, proudly ; “ I 
sacked the most fashionable quarters myself. I expect 
my booty will be forwarded — shortly. Didn’t you know 
Troy was taken ? ” he asked, suspiciously. “ Couldn’t 
you see the beacon I lighted just before I started ? ” 
The courtier murmured that it was wonderful to find 
so long and tedious a journey accomplished in such capi- 
tal time. 

What do you mean by that ? How do you know 
how long it took ? ” demanded Agamemnon. 

‘‘Don’t you see ?” said Clytemnestra. “ Why, yon 
say you had the fire lighted at Ida when you started ; 
then, of course, they would see it directly over at Lem- 
nos, and light theirs ; and then at Athos, and then ” 

“ You are not a time-table, my love,” interrupted the 
monarch, coldly. “I won’t trouble you for all these de- 
tails. Come to the point.” 


76 


TEE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON 


The point is,” she explained sweetly, that we have 
only just seen the beacon flame arrive here at Arachnsens, 
after leaping from height to height across lake and plain ; 
so that yon, my dearest, must have made the distance 
with almost equal celerity ! ” 

“ I came with the beacon,” said Agamemnon, cough- 
ing ; “ perhaps that disposes of the difficulty ? ” 

“ Perhaps,” said the Queen ; “ I mean quite. And 
now,” she continued, after a rapid exchange of glances 
with Jligisthus, you will come indoors, and have a nice 
cup of coffee and a warm bath before you do anything 
else, won’t you ? ” 

He almost thought he would, he said ; fighting for 
ten long years without intermission was a dusty, tiring 
occupation, and he was accordingly about to enter, when 
his eye fell on the awnings and flags and the red stair 
carpet, which had been prepared for the betrothal fes- 
tivities, and he frowned. 

‘‘How, my dear, this sort of thing is all very well, no 
doubt ; but I don’t care about it. I’m a plain, honest 
ruler of men, and I hate flummery and flattery — par- 
ticularly when it all comes out of my pocket ! Why, 
you’ve laid down the drugget from the Throne-Poom 
over all this gravel. Take it up directly ; I decline to 
walk over it. Ho you hear ? This wasteful extrava- 
gance is positively sinful. Take it up ! ” 

Clytemnestra assured him earnestly that they had had 
no intention af annoying him with it — which was liter- 
ally true ; and suggested meekly that for the King to 
stay out in the court-yard until all the decorations were 
removed might be a tedious and even a ridiculous pro- 
ceeding. “ If,” she added, “ he vras merely unwilling 


THE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON. 


77 


to spoil the drugget, he might easily" remove liis boots, 
which were extremely muddy — for a monarch’s.” 

‘‘Well, well, my dear, be it so,” said the King ; “I 
did not intend to chide you. It is only that I have grown 
so accustomed to the frugal, hardy life of a camp, that 
1 have imbibed a soldier’s contempt for luxury.” 

And, removing his boots, he followed the Queen into 
the Palace, as she led the way with a baleful expression 
upon her dark and inscrutable face. 

As the pair passed up the steps and between the lofty 
pillars, the hounds howled from the royal kennels at the 
back of the Palace, and — a stranger portent still — a 
meteor shot suddenly through the growing gloom and 
burst in a rain of colored stars above the house-top, 
while, shortly after, a staff fell from above upon the 
head of one of the Chorus— and was shivered to frag- 
ments ! 


^gisthus had strolled away under the colonnade, and 
Cassandra was left alone with the Chorus. She stood 
apart, mystic, moody, and impenetrable, letting down her 
flowing back hair. 

“ You prophesy, do you not ? ” said the kind old man 
at length, wishing to make her feel at home ; “ might 
we beg you to favor us with a prediction — just a little 
one ? ” 

Cassandra made excuses at first, as was proper ; she 
had a cold, and was feeling the effects of the journey. 
She was really not inspired just then, she protested, and 
besides, she had not touched a tripod for ages. 

But, upon being pressed, she gave way at last, after 


78 


THE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON 


declaring with a little giggle that she was perfectly cer- 
tain nobody would believe a single word she said. 

I see before me,” she began, in a weird, sepulchral 
tone which she found it impossible to keep up for many 
sentences, ^‘a proud and stately pile — but enter not. 
See ye yon ghoul among the chimney-pots, yon arn- 
phisboena in the back garden ? And the scent of gore 
pervades it ! ” 

It is no happy home that is thus described ! ” the 
Chorus threw in, professionally. 

“ But the Finger of Fate is slowly unwound, and the 
Hand of Destiny steps in to pace the marble halls with 
heavy tramp. And know, old men, that the Inevitable 
is not wholly unconnected with the Probable ! ” 

At this even their politeness could not restrain a 
gesture of incredulity, but she heeded it not, and con- 
tinued : 

^•^Who is this that I see next — this regal warrior 
bounding over the blazing battlements in brazen 
panoply ? ” 

(“ That must be Agamemnon,” cried the Chorus ; 
“ the despatches mentioned him bounding like that. 
Wonderful ! ” 

see him,” she resumed, ‘‘pale and prostrate — a 
prey to the pangs within him, scanning the billows 
from his storm-tossed ship. How he has reached his 
native city. Hark ! how they greet him ! And, be- 
hold, a stately matron meets him with a honeyed smile, 
inviting him to enter. He yields. And then ” 

Here Cassandra stopped, with the remark that that 
was all — as there were limits even to the marvellous 
faculty of second-sight. 


THE HETURN of AGAMEMNON. 


79 


Xhe Chorus were not unimpressed, for they had never 
seen a prediction and its literal fulfilment in quite such 
close conjunction before, and their own attempts always 
came wrong ; but although they were agreed that the 
prophecy was charming as far as it went, they began to 
feel slightly afraid of the prophetess, and were secretly 
relieved when ^gisthus happened to come up shortly 
afterward with an offer to show her such places of in- 
terest as Argos boasted. 

But they were great authorities upon all points of 
etiquette and morality, and they all remarked (when she 
had gone) that she displayed an unbecoming readiness 
in accepting the escort of a courtier who had not been 
formally introduced to her. “ That may be the custom 
in Troy^’’ they said, wagging their beards, “ but if she 
means to behave like that here — well I ” 

And now the last gleam of the sunset had faded and 
the stars straggled o'tit in the pale green sky, whilst the 
Chorus walked up and down to keep warm, for the 
evening was growing chilly. 

Suddenly a loud cry broke the silence — a scream as 
of a strong man in mortal agony ! It struck all of 
them that the voice was uncommonly like Agamemnon’s, 
but none liked to say so, and they only observed with a 
forced composure that really the cats were becoming 
quite a nuisance. 

The cry came again, louder this time, and more dis- 
tinct ; it seemed to come from the direction of the roy- 
al bath-room. ‘‘ Hi, here, somebody — help ! They^ve 
turned on the hot water and I canH turn it off 
again ! ” 

After this there could be no possible doubt that there 


80 


TBB RETURN OF AGAMEMNON. 


was something the matter far more serious than cats. 
Agamemnon, the king of men, was apparently in dif- 
ficulties, and it was only too probable that this was 
Clytenmestra’s fell work. 

They all ran about and fell over one another in the 
general fiurry and confusion, and then as they re- 
covered their presence of mind they began to consult 
upon the best course to pursue under the circumstances. 
Some were of opinion that it would not be a quite un- 
pardonable breach of court etiquette if they w^ere to rush 
into the bath-room and pull the royal sufferer out : others, 
more cautious, asked for pi-ecedents in a case of such 
delicacy, and they almost quarrelled, until the wisest of 
them all reminded his fellows that, at all events, it was 
too late to interfere then, as the monarch must cer- 
tainly be hard-boiled by that time — which relieved 
them from all responsibility in the happiest manner. 

At this point the Queen appeared at the head of the 
marble steps, down which she glided cautiously and 
came toward them, evidently in a condition of sup- 
pressed excitement. 

What a beautiful evening ! ” said the Chorus in uni- 
son, for they considered it better taste not to appear to 
to have noticed anything at all unusual. 

“ Agamemnon is with his ancestors,” she replied in a 
fierce whisper ; I sewed up the sleeves of his bathing- 
gown and I drugged his coffee, and then from afar I 
turned on the hot water. And he is boiled, and it 
serves him right, and I’m glad of it — so now ! But 
tell me, ye aged ones,,” she added with one of her quick 
transitions, “have I done well ? ” 

Now the Chorus were distinctly disgusted at her 


THE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON. 


81 


want of tact and reserve, and would have greatly pre- 
ferred not to be admitted into confidences of so purely 
domestic a description, but they were not the men to 
fiinch from their duty. 

“ In our opinion, O Queen,” they replied coldly, the 
deed was a hasty one, and accomplished without suf- 
ficient consideration.” 

“ Ha ! ” she exclaimed angrily, so ye would rate me 
like a girl ! Am I not your sovereign mistress ? Guard, 
seize these insolents ! ” 

And the superannuated old sentinel left his box and 
tottered up to seize as many of them as he could lay 
hold of at once, telling the remainder to consider them- 
selves under arrest, which they did directly. 

“ Summon the populace,” Clytemnestra next com- 
manded, and the Argives left the fireworks obediently 
and assembled before the steps. 

‘‘ Citizens ! Argives ! ” she cried in a loud clear voice, 
‘‘ I am sure you will all be very sorry and disappointed 
to hear that your beloved sovereign, so lately restored to 
us ” (here- she broke down with the naturalness of a great 
artist) — that our beloved sovereign is — by a most de- 
plorable and unaccountable lack of precaution ” 

Alive ! ” interrupted a voice from behind the Queen, 
and some one pushed aside the hangings before the door 
of the Palace, and began to descend the steps. It was 
Agamemnon himself. 

Clytemnestra shrieked as she turned slowly, and con- 
fronted him in silence for some moments ; the situation 
was intensely dramatic, and the Argives, a simple and 
affectionate people, fully appreciated this, and never 
once regretted the fireworks they had abandoned. 

6 


82 


THE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON. 


Tlie Queen was the first to speak : ‘‘ So,” she said, 
pale and panting, “you — you’ve — had your bath?” 

“Well — no,” said Agamemnon mildly; “I happened 
to observe that some one had thoughtfully sewn up the 
armholes of my dressing-gown, and that the coffee had 
a particularly nasty smell in it, and so, somehow, I 
thought I would rather wait. And then the boiling 
water came rushing in, and I saw there had been a little 
mistake somewhere. So it occurred to me that I too 
would dissemble and see what came of it, and I shouted 
for help. I think I see it all now.” 

And then he took a higher moral tone ; his manner 
was no longer cynical ; he was not angry even — only 
deeply wounded, and there was something fine and strik- 
ing in the stern sadness of his brow. 

“ So this,” he said, “ was to have been my fate ? I 
was to return, a war-worn warrior, to the hearth and 
home from which I had been absent so long — so long — 
to be ruthlessly parboiled the very moment after my 
arrival, by the partner of my throne ! Was this kind — 
was this wifely, Clytemnestra ? ” 

“ That comes so well from you, does it not ? ” she 
retorted. 

“ Why — why — wdiat do you mean ? ” he stammered. 
“ You know very well what I mean,” she said. “ Bah ! 
why play the hypocrite with me ? ” 

“ Is it possible,” he cried, “ that you can suspect me 
of not having been near Troy all this time — tell me, 
Clytemnestra — is this monstrous thing possible ? ” 

“ Quite,” she replied ; “ I know you haven’t ! ” 

“ What — when I tell you that there is a poet, a fellow 
called Homer or something, who has got a sort of repu- 


TEE RETURN OF AGAMEMNON. 


83 


tation already by putting tlie campaign into verses, 
rather long, but quite readable (you must order them) ; 
well, there’s a lot about me in them.” 

‘‘ Did Horner see you thei’e ? ” 

‘‘How that’s a most ridiculous question,” , he pi’otest- 
ed, with a feeling that she was coming round, and that 
he should convince her directly ; “ the poet’s blind, Cly- 
temnestra, quite blind. But I will not ai’gue — you must 
be content with a wai-rioi-’s assurance.” 

She laughed. “ I’m afraid,” she said, “ that even a 
waiTior’s assui'ance will find it difiicult to account satis- 
factoidly for this — and this — and these!” And as she 
spoke, she handed him a variety of articles : a folding 
hat, a guide to Corinth, a conversation manual, several 
unused toui-ist tickeL^, one or two theatre programmes, 
a green veil, some supper bills, a correct card for the 
Olympian races, with the names of probable starters, 
and three little jointed wooden dolls. 

Agamemnon took them all helplessly ; all his virtuous 
indignation had evaporated, and he looked very red and 
foolish as he said, with a kind of nervous laugh, “ You’ve 
been looking in my pockets 1 ” 

“ I have,” she said, “ and now what have you to say 
for yourself ? I don’t believe there is any such place as 
Troy.” 

“ There is, indeed,” he pleaded ; “ I can show it to you 
on the map 1 ” 

“Well,” she said, “if there is, you never went near 
it!” 

“ Send those people away,” he said, “ and I will tell 
you all ! ” 

And when they had gone, he confessed everything. 


84 


THE RETUEN OF AGAMEMNON. 


explaining that he really had meant to go to Troy at 
first, and how, as he got nearer, he found himself less 
and less inclined for fighting — until at last he deter- 
mined to travel about and see life instead, and, as he 
expressed it, “ pick up a little character.” 

“Well,” said Clytemnestra, “I will have no little 
characters in my palace, Agamemnon.” 

But he protested that she had not understood him. 
“ And if I have erred, my love,” he suggested, humbly, 
“ excuse me, but I cannot help thinking that the means 
devised for my correction were unnecessarily severe ! ” 

“ They were nothing of the sort,” she said ; “ you de- 
served it all — and w^orse ! ” 

Upon this Agamemnon made haste to assure her that 
she had shown a very proper spirit, and he respected 
her the more for it. “ And now,” he put it to her, “ why 
not let bygones he bygones % ” But Clytemnestra’s reply 
was that she would be quite willing to permit this when 
they %oere bygones, which, at present, she added, they 
were very far from, being. 

The King was in despair, until beneficent nature came 
to his assistance ; a faint chirrup was heard from a 
neighboring bush, a circumstance which he turned to 
admirable account. 

“ You hear it ? ” he asked, tenderly, “ the dulcet strain ? 
Know ye the note ? Ah, Clytemnestra, ’tis the owl — 
the blithe and tuneful owl ! Owls sang on our bridal 
night — can you hear their melody now and be unmoved % 
Ko, I did but wrong ye ... a tear trembles on that 
eyelash, a smile flickers upon that lip ! I am par- 
doned. Clytemnestra — wife, embrace me ... we 
both have much to forgive ! ” 


THE RETUBN OF AGAMEMNON. 


85 


This speech (which was not unlike some he had heard 
in thrilling dramas at the “ Hsemabronteion,” Corinth, 
where the prophetess Cassandra had been greatly ad- 
mired in her impersonations of persecuted and distracted 
heroines) touched Clytemnestra’s heart, in which, hard 
as it was, there was a strain of sentiment — and she fell 
sobbing into her husband’s arms. 

And so all was forgotten and forgiven in the most 
satisfactory manner, the Chorus (who had been consider- 
ing themselves arrested until the intellectual strain had 
proved almost too much for them) were released, while 
it was found on inquiiy that both ^gisthus and Cas- 
sandra were missing, and no trace of either of them was 
ever found again ; but it was generally understood that, 
with a delicate unsellishness, they had been unwilling to 
remain where their presence would lead to inevitable 
complications. 

And from that night — until the fatal day, some six 
short weeks afterward, when each, by an unfortunate 
oversight, partook of a mixture which had been care- 
fully prepared for the other — there was not a liappier 
royal couple in all Argos than Clytemnestra and 
Agamemnon. 


THE WKAITH OF BARNJUM.' 


I FEANKLY admit, whatever may be the consequences 
of doing so, that I w^as not fond of Barnjum ; in fact, I 
detested him. Everything that fellow said and did 
jarred upon me to an absolutely indescribable extent, al- 
though I did not discover for some time that he regarded 
me with a strange and unreasonable aversion. 

We were so essentially unlike in almost every parti- 
cular — I, with my innate refinement and high culture, 
my over-fastidious exclusiveness in the choice of asso- 
ciates ; and he, a big, red, coarse brute with neither 
sweetness nor light, who knew himself a Philistine, and 
seemed to like it — we were so unlike, that I often asked 
him, with a genuine desire for information, what had I 
in common with him ? 

And yet it will scarcely be believed, perhaps, that 
vdth such good reasons for keeping apart, we were con- 
tinually seeking one another’s company with a zest that 
knew no satiety. The only explanation I can offer for 
such a phenomenon is, that our mutual antipathy had 
become so much a part of ourselves, that we could not 
let it perish for lack of nourishment. 

Perhaps we were not conscious of this at the time, 
and when we agreed to go on a walking tour together 

^ Reprinted from Tem'ple Bar for March, 1879, by permission of the 
Proprietors. 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM. 


87 


in I7ortli Wales, I tliink it was chiefly because w^e knew 
that we could devise no surer means of annoying one 
another ; but, however that may be, in an ill-starred day 
for my own peace of mind, we started upon a journey 
from which but one of us was fated to return. 

I pass by the painful experiences of the flrst few days 
of that unhappy tour. I will say nothing of Barn j urn’s 
grovelling animalism, of his consummate selflshness, 
his more than bucolic indifference to the charms of 
Nature, nor even of the mean and sordid way in which 
he contrived to let me in for railway tickets and hotel 
bills. 

I wdsh to tell my melancholy story with perfect 
impai-tiality, and I am sure that I am not reduced to 
exciting any prejudice to secure the sympathies of all 
readers. 

I shall pass, then, to the memorable day when my 
disgust, so long pent up, so imperf§|ftly concealed, cul- 
minated in one grand outburst of a not ignoble indigna- 
tion, to the hour when I summoned up moi’al courage to 
sever the bonds which linked us so unequally. 

I remember it so well, that brilliant morning in June 
when we left the Temperance Hotel, Doldwyddlm, and 
scaled in sulky silence the craggy heights of Cader 
Idris, which, I presume, still overhang that picturesque 
village, while, as we ascended, an ever-changing and 
ever-improving panorama unrolled itself before my de- 
lighted eyes. 

The air up there was keen and bracing, and I recol- 
lect that I could not repress an aesthetic shudder at the 
crude and primitive- tone which Barnjurn’s nose had as- 
sumed under atmospheric influences. I mentioned this 


88 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM. 


(for we still maintained the outward forms of friend- 
ship), when he retorted, with the brutal personality 
which formed so strong an ingredient of - his character, 
that if I could only see myself in that suit of mine, and 
that hat (referring to the dress I was then wearing), 1 
should feel the propriety of letting his nose alone. To 
which I replied, with a sarcasm that I feel now was a 
little too crushing, that I had every intention of doing 
so, as it was quite painful enough to merely contenl- 
plate such a spectacle ; and he, evidently meaning to be 
olhjusive, remarked, that no one could help his nose 
getting red, but that any man in my position could at 
least dress like a gentleman. 

I took no notice of this insult ; a Bunting (I don’t 
think I mentioned before that my name is Philibert 
Bunting) — a Bunting can afford to pass such insinua- 
ti(ms by; indeed, I find it actually cheaper to do so, and 
I tlattered mysel:^that my dress was distinguished by a 
sort of studied looseness, that would appeal at once to 
a> cultivated and artistic eye, though, of course, Barn- 
j urn’s hard and shallow organs could not be expected to 
appreciate it. 

I overlooked it, then, and presently we found our- 
selves skirting the edge of a huge chasm, whose steep 
sides sloped sheer down into the slate-blue waters of the 
lake below. 

How can I hope to give an idea of the magnificent 
view which met our eyes as we stood there — a view of 
which, as far as I am aware, no description has ever yet 
been attempted ? 

To our right towered the Peaks of Dolgelly, with 
their saw-like outline cutting the blue sky with a faint 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM. 


89 


grating sound, while the shreds of white cloud lay be- 
low in drifts. At our feet were the sun-lit waters of 
the lake, upon which danced a fleet of brown-sailed 
herring-boats ; beyond was the plain of Cape Gurig, and 
there, over on the left, sparkled the falls of Y-Dydd. 

As I took all this in I felt a longing to say something 
worthy of the occasion. Being possessed of a consider- 
able fund of carefully dried and selected humor, I fre- 
quently amuse myself by a species of intellectual exer- 
cise, which consists in so framing a remark that a word 
or more therein may bear two entirely opposite con- 
structions ; and some of the quaint names of the vicin- 
ity seemed to me just then admirably adapted for this 
purpose. 

I was about to gauge my dull-witted companion’s 
capacity by some such test, when he forestalled me. 

‘‘You ought to live up here. Bunting,” said he; 
“you were made for this identical old mountain.” 

I was not displeased, for, Londoner as I am, I have 
the nerve and steadiness of a practised mountaineer. 

“ Perhaps I was,” I said, good-humoredly ; “ but how 
did you find it out ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you,” he replied, with one of his odious 
grins. “ This is Cader Idris, ain’t it ? well, and you’re 
a cad awry dressed^ ain’t you % Cader Idrissed, see ? ” 
(he was dastard enough to explain) “ That’s how I get 
at it ! ” 

He must have been laboriously leading up to that for 
the last ten minutes ! 

I solemnly declare that it was not the personal out- 
rage that roused me ; I simply felt that a paltry verbal 
quibble of that description, emitted amidst such scenery 


90 


THE WBAITIl OF BARNJUM. 


and at that altitude, required a protest in the name of 
indignant I^ature, and I protested accordingly, although 
with an impetuosity which I afterward regretted, and 
of which I cannot even now entirely approve. 

He happened to be standing on the brink of an abyss, 
and had just turned his back upon me, as, with a vigor- 
ous thrust of my right foot, I launched him into the 
blue ether, with the chuckle at his unhallowed jest still 
hovering upon his lips. 

I am aware that by such an act I took a liberty 
which, under ordinary circumstances, even the licence 
of a life-long friendship would scarcely have justified ; 
but I thought it only due to myself to let him see plainly 
that I desired our acquaintanceship to cease from that 
instant, and Barnjum was the kind of man upon whom 
a more delicate hint would have been distinctly thrown 
away. 

I watched his progress with some interest as he re- 
bounded from point to point during his descent. I 
waited — punctiliously, perhaps, until the echoes he had 
aroused had died away on the breeze, and then, slowly 
and thoughtfully, 1 retraced my steps, and left a spot 
which was already becoming associated for me with 
memories the reverse from pleasurable. 

I took the next up-train, and before I reached town 
had succeeded in dismissing the incident from my mind, 
or if I thought of it at all, it was only to indulge relief 
at the reflection that I had shaken off Barnjum for- ever. 

But when I had paid my cab, and was taking out my 
latch-key, a curious thing happened — the driver called 
me back. 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM. 


91 


“ Beg pardon, sir,” lie said, lioarsely, but I think 
you’ve bin and left something white in my cab ! ” 

I turned and looked in : there, grinning at me from 
the interior of the hansom, over the folding-doors, w^as 
the wraith of Barnjum ! 

I had presence of mind enough to thank the man for 
his honesty, and go up-stairs to my rooms with as little 
noise as possible. Barnjum’s ghost, as I expected, fol- 
low’ed me in, and sat down coolly before the fire, in my 
arm-chair, thus giving me an opportunity of subjecting 
the apparition to a thorough examination. 

It w^as quite the conventional ghost, filmy, transpar- 
ent, and, though wanting firmness in outline, a really 
passable likeness of Barnjum. Before I retired to rest 
I had thrown both my boots and the contents of my 
bookcase completely through the thing, wdthout appear- 
ing to cause it more than a temporary inconvenience — 
wdiich convinced me that it was indeed a being from 
another world. 

Its choice of garments struck me even then as de- 
cidedly unusual. I am not narrow^; I cheerfully allow 
that, assuming the necessity for apparitions at all, it is 
well that they should be clothed in robes of some kind ; 
but Barnjum’s ghost delighted in a combination of cos- 
tume which set the fitness of things at defiance. 

It wore that evening, for instance, to the best of my 
recollection, striped pantaloons, a surplice, and an im- 
mense cocked hat ; but on subsequent occasions its 
changes of costume were so rapid and eccentric, that I 
ceased to pay much attention to them, and could only 
explain them on the supposition that somew^here in 
space there exists a supernatural store in the nature of 


92 


THE WRAITH OF BABNJUM. 


a theatrical wardrobe, and that Barn jam’s ghost liad 
the ran of it. 

I had not been in very long before my landlady came 
ap to see if I wanted anything, and of coarse as soon 
as she came in, she saw the wraith. At first she ob- 
jected to it very stronglj^, declaring that she woald not 
have sach nasty things in her honse, and if 1 wanted to 
keep ghosts, I had better go somewhei*e else ; bat I 
pacified her at last by representing that it woald give 
her no extra troable, and that I was only taking care of 
it for a friend. 

When she had gone, however, I sat ap till late, think- 
ing calmly over my position, and the complications 
which might be expected to ensae from it. 

It woald be very easy to harrow the reader’s feelings 
and work npon his sympathies here by a telling descrip- 
tion of my terror and my gailty confasion at the unfore- 
seen consequences of what I had done. But I think, in 
relating an experience of this kind, the straightforward 
way is always the best, and I do not care to heighten 
the effect by attributing to myself a variety of sensa- 
tions which I do not remember to have actually felt at 
the time. 

My first impression had not unnaturally been that the 
spectre was merely the product of overwrought nerves or 
indigestion, but it seemed improbable that a cabman 
should be plagued by a morbid activity of imagination, 
and that a landlady’s digestion could be delicate suffi- 
ciently to evolve a thing so far removed from the merely 
commonplace ; and, reluctantly enough, I w^as forced to 
the conclusion that it was a real ghost, and would prob- 
ably continue to haunt me to the end of my days. 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM. 


93 


Of course I was disgusted by this exhibition of 
petty revenge and low malice on the part of Barnjum, 
which might be tolerated perhaps in a Christmas annual, 
with a full- page illustration, but which, in real life and 
the height of summer, was a glaring anachronism. 

Still, it was of no use to repine then ; I resolved to 
look at the thing in a common-sense light — I told my- 
self that I had made my ghost, and would have to live 
with it. And, after all, I had much to be thankful for : 
Barnjum in the sphit was a decided improvement upon 
Barnjum in the flesh ; and as the spirit did not appear 
to be gifted with speech, it was unlikely to tell tales. 

Luckily for me, too, Barnjum was absolutely unknown 
about town ; his only relative was an aunt resident at 
Camberwell, and so there was no danger of any suspicion 
being excited by chance recognition in the circles to 
which 1 belonged. 

It would have been folly to shut one’s eyes to the fact 
that it might require considerable nerve to re-enter 
society closely attended by an obscure and fancifully 
attired apparition. 

Society would sneer considerably at flrst and make 
remarks, but I was full of tact and knowledge of the 
woild, and I knew, too, that men have overcome far 
more formidable obstacles to social success than any 
against which I should be called upon to contend. 

And so, instead of weakly giving way to unreasona- 
ble panic, I took the more manly course of determining 
to live it down, with what success I shall have presently 
to show. 

When I went out after breakfast the next morning, 
Barnj urn’s ghost insisted upon coming too, and followed 


94 


TEE WRAITH OF BARNJVM. 


ine, to my intense annoyance, all down St. James’s 
Street ; in fact, for many weeks it was almost constantly 
by my side, and rendered me tlie innocent victim of 
mingled curiosity and aversion. 

I tlionglit it best to affect to be unaware of the pres- 
ence of anything of a ghostly nature, and when taxed 
with it, ascribed it to the diseased fancy of my interlo- 
cutor ; but, by-and-by, as the whole town began to ring 
with the story, I found it impossible to pretend ignor- 
ance any longer. 

So I gave out that it was an artfullj^ contrived piece 
of spectral mechanism, of which I was the inventor, and 
for which I contemplated taking out a patent ; and this 
would have earned for me a high reputation in the scien- 
tific world if Messrs. Maskelyne and Cooke had not 
grown envious of my fame, declaring that they had long 
since anticipated the secret of my machine, and could 
manufacture one in every way superior to it, which 
they presen tlj’' did. 

Then I was obliged to confide (in the strictest secrecy) 
to two members of the Peerage (both persons of irre- 
proachable breeding, with whom I was at that time ex- 
ceedingly intimate) that it was indeed a hondjlde appari- 
tion, and that I rather liked such things about me. I 
cannot explain how it happened, but in a very short 
time the story had gone the round of the clubs and draw- 
ing-rooms, and I found myself launched as a lion of the 
largest size — if it is strictly correct to speak of launch- 
ing a lion. 

I received invitations everywhere, on the tacit under- 
standing that I was to bring my ghost, and the wraith 
of Barnjum, as some who read this may remember, was 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM. 


95 


to be seen at all the best houses in town for the remain- 
der of the season ; while in the following autumn, I was 
asked down for the shooting by several wealthy parm- 
mis, with a secret hope, unless I am greatly mistaken, 
that the ghost might conceive the idea of remaining 
with them permanently, thereby imparting to their 
brand-new palaces the necessary flavor of legend and 
mystery ; but of course it never did. 

To tell the truth, whatever novelty there was about it 
soon wore off — too soon, in fact, for, flckle as society is, 
I have no hesitation in asserting that we ought to have 
lasted it at least a second season, if only Barnjum’s 
ghost had not persisted in making itself so ridiculously 
cheap that, in little more than a fortnight, society was 
as sick of it as I was myself. 

And then the inconveniences which attached to my 
situation began to assert themselves more and more em- 
phatically. 

I began to stay at home sometimes in the evening, 
when I observed that the phantom had an unpleasant 
trick of illuminating itself at the approach of darkness 
with a bilious green light, which, as it was not nearly 
strong enough to enable me to dispense with a reading 
lamp, merely served to depress me. 

And then it began to absent itself occasionally for 
days together, and though at flrst I was rather glad not 
to see so much of it, I grew uneasy at last. I was al- 
ways fancying that the Psychical Society, who are 
credited with understanding the proper treatment of 
spectres in health and disease, from the tomb upward, 
might have got hold of it and be teaching it to talk and 
compromise me. I heard afterward that one of their 


96 


THE WRAITH OF BARHJUM. 


most prominent members did happen to come across it, 
but, with a scepticism which I cannot but think was 
somewhat wanting in discernment, rejected it as a palp- 
able imposition. 

I had to leave the rooms wdiere I had been so com- 
fortable, for my landlady complained that the street w^as 
blocked up by a mob of the lowest description from seven 
till twelve every evening, and she really could not put 
up with it any longer. 

On inquiry I found that this was owing to Barn j urn’s 
ghost getting out upon the roof almost every night after 
dark, and playing the fool among the chimney-pots, 
causing me, as its apparent owner, to be indicted five 
times for committing a common nuisance by obstructing 
the thoroughfare, and once for collecting an unlawful 
assembly : I spent all my spare cash in fines. 

I believe there were portraits of us both in the “ Il- 
lustrated Police Hews,” but the distinction implied in 
this was more than outweighed by the fact that Barn- 
jum’s wraith was slowly but surely undermining both 
my fortune and my reputation. 

It followed me one day to one of the underground 
railway stations, and would get into a compartment 
with me, which led to a lawsuit that made a nine days’ 
sensation in the legal world. I need only mention the 
celebrated case of The Metropolitan District Eailway 
'y. Bunting,” in which the important principle was once 
for all laid down that a railway company, by the terms 
of its contract, is entitled to refuse to carry ghosts, spec- 
tres, or any other supernatural baggage, and can more- 
over exact a heavy penalty from passengers who infringe 
its by-laws in this respect. 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM. 


97 


This was, of course, a decision against me, and carried 
heavy costs, which my private fortune was just sufficient 
to meet. 

But Barnj urn’s ghost was bent upon alienating me 
from society also, for at one of the best dances of the 
season, at a house where I had with infinite pains just 
succeeded in establishing a precarious footing, that mis- 
erable phantom disgraced me for ever by executing a 
shadowy but decidedly objectionable species of cmican 
between the dances ! 

Feeling indirectly responsible for its behavior, I 
apologized profusely to my hostess, but the affair found 
its way into the society journals, and she never either 
forgave or recognized me again. 

Shortly after that, the committee of my club (one of 
the most exclusive in London) invited me to resign, 
intimating that, by introducing an acquaintance of ques- 
tionable antecedents and disreputable exterior into the 
smoking-room, I had abused the privileges of member- 
ship. 

I had been afraid of this when I saw it following me 
into the building, arrayed in Highland costume and a 
tall hat ; but 1 was quite unable to drive it away. 

Up to that time I had been at the bar, whei-e I was 
doing pretty well, but now no respectable firm of soli- 
citors would employ a man who had such an unprofes- 
sional thing as a phantom about his chambers. I threw 
up my practice, and had no sooner changed my last 
sovereign than I was snmmoned for keeping a ghost 
without a license ! 

Some men, no doubt, would have given up there and 
then in despair — but I am made of sterner stuff, and, be- 
7 


. 98 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM. 


sides, an idea liad already occurred to me of turning the 
table upon my shadowy persecutor. 

Barnjum’s ghost had ruined me: why should I not 
endeavor to turn an honest penny out of Barnjum’s 
ghost ? It was genuine — as I well knew ; it was, in 
some respects, original ; it was eminently calculated to 
delight the young and instruct the old ; there was even 
a moral or two to be got out of it, and though it had 
long failed to attract in town, I saw no reason why it 
should not make a great hit in the provinces. 

I borrowed the necessary funds and had soon made 
all preliminary arrangements for running the wraith of 
Barnjum on a short tour in the provinces, deciding to 
open at Tenby, in South Wales. 

I took every precaution, travelling by night and keep- 
ing within doors all day, lest the shade (which was de- 
plorably destitute of the commonest professional pride) 
should get about and exhibit itself behorehand for noth- 
ing; and so successful was I, that when it first burst 
upon a Welsh audience, from the platform of the As- 
sembly Booms, Tenby, no ghost could have wished for 
a more enthusiastic reception, and — for the first and last 
time — I felt positively proud of it ! 

But the applause gradually subsided, and was suc- 
ceeded by an awkward pause. It had not struck me till 
that moment that it would be necessary to do or say any- 
thing in particular during the exhibition, beyond show- 
ing the spectators round the phantom, and making the 
customary assurance that there was no deception and no 
concealed machinery, which I could do with a clear con- 
science. But a terrible conviction struck me, as I stood 
there bowing repeatedly, that the audience had come 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM. 


99 


prepared for a comic duologue, with incidental music 
and dances. 

This was quite out of the question, even supposing 
that Barnj urn’s ghost would have helped me to entertain 
them, which, perhaps, I could scarcely expect. As it 
was, it did nothing at all, except grimace at the audience 
and make an idiotic fool of itself and me — an exhibition 
of which they soon wearied. I am perfectly certain 
that an ordinary magic lantern would have made a far 
deeper impression upon them. 

Whether the wraith managed in some covert way, 
when my attention was diverted, to insult the national 
prejudices of that sensitive and hot-blooded nation, I 
cannot say. All I know is, that after sitting still for 
some time they suddenly rose as one man ; chairs were 
hurled at me through the ghost, and the stage was com- 
pletely wrecked before the audience could be induced to 
go away. 

It w^as all over. I was hopelessly ruined now ! My 
weak fancy that even a spectre would have some rem- 
nants of common decency aiM good-feeling hanging 
about it, had put the finishing touch to my misfortunes! 

I paid for the smashed platform and windows with 
the money that had been taken at the doors, and then I 
travelled back to London, third class, that night, with 
the feeling that everything was against me. 

It was Christmas, and I was sitting gloomily in my 
shabby Bloomsbury lodgings, watching with a miserable, 
apathetic interest Barn j urn’s wraith as, clad in a Boman 
toga, topboots, and a turban, it flitted about the horse- 
hair furniture. 


100 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM, 


I was wondering if they would admit me into any 
workhouse wdiile the spectre continued my attendant ; 
I was utterly and completely wretched, and now, for 
the fii’st time, I really repented my conduct in having 
parted with Barnjum so abruptly by the bleak cliff side, 
that bright June morning. 

I had heard no more of him — I knew he must have 
reached the bottom after his fall, because I heard the 
splash he made — but no tidings had come of the dis- 
covery of his body ; the lake kept its dark secret well. 

If I could only hope that this insidious shade, now 
that it had hounded me down to poverty, would con- 
sider this as a sufficient expiation of my error and go 
away and leave me in peace ! But I felt, only too 
keenly, that it was one of those one-idea’d apparitions, 
which never know when they have had enough of a 
good thing-:rit would be sure to stay and see the very 
last of me ! 

All at once there came a sharp tap at my door, and 
another figure strode solemnly in. This, too, wore the 
semblance of Barnjum, but was cast in a more substan- 
tial mould, and possessed the powxr of speech, as I 
gathered from its addressing me instantly as a cowardly 
villain. 

I started back, and stood behind an arm-chair, facing 
those two forms, the shadow and the solid, with a feel- 
ing of sick despair. ‘‘ Listen to me,” I said, “ both of 
you : so long as your---your original proprietor was con- 
tent with a single wraith, I put up with it ; I did not 
enjoy myself — but I endured it. But a Irace of appari- 
tions is really carrying the thing too far; it’s more than 
any one man’s fair allowance, and I won’t stand it. I 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM. 


101 


defy tlie pair of you. I will find means to escape you. 
I will leave the world ! Other people can be ghosts as 
well as you — it’s not a monopoly ! If you don’t go di- 
rectly, I shall blow my brains out ! ” 

There was no firearm of any description in the house, 
but I was too excited for perfect accuracy. 

‘‘ Blow your brains out by all means ! ” said the solid 
figure ; ‘‘ I don’t know what all this nonsense you’re talk- 
ing is about. I’m not a ghost that I’m aw^are of ; I’m alive 
(no thanks to you) ; and, to come back to the point — 
scoundrel ! ” 

^‘Barnjum — and alive!” I cried, almost with relief. 
‘‘ If that is so,” I added, feeling that I had been im- 
posed upon in a very unworthy and ungentlernanly man- 
ner, “ will you have the goodness to tell me what right 
you have to this ridiculous apparition here ? ” 

He did not seem to have noticed it particularly till 
then. “ Hullo ! ” he said, looking at it with some curi- 
osity, ‘‘ what d’ye call that thing ? ” 

call it a beastly nuisance ! ” I said. “Ever since 
— since I last saw you. it’s been following me about 
eveiywhere in a — in a very annoying manner I ” 

Will it be believed that the unfeeling brute only 
chuckled at this ? “ / don’t know anything about it,” 

he said, “ but all I can say is that it serves you jolly 
w^ell right, and I hope it wdil go on annoying you.” 

“ This is ungenerous,” I said, determined to appeal 
to any better feelings he might have ; “ we did not part 

on — on the best of terms perhaps ” 

“ Considering that you kicked me over a precipice 
when I wasn’t looking,” he retorted brutally, “ we may 
take that as admitted.” 


102 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM. 


‘‘But, at all events,’* I argued, “it is ridiculous to 
cherish an old grudge all this time ; you must see the 
absurdity of it yourself.” 

“ i^o, I don’t,” he said. 

I determined to make a last effort to move him. “ It 
is Christmas Eve, Barnjum,” I said earnestly, “Christ- 
mas Eve. Think of it. At this hour, thousands of 
throbbing human hearts are speeding the cheap but 
genial Christmas card to such of their relations as they 
consider at all likely to respond with a turkey. The 
costermonger, imaginative for the nonce, is investing 
damaged evergreens with a purely fictitious value, and 
the cheery publican is sending the member of his vil- 
lage goose-club back to his cottage home I’ich in the 
possession of a shot-distended bird and a bottle of poi- 
sonous port. Hear my appeal. If I was hasty with 
you, I have been punished. That detestable thing on 
the hearthrug there has dogged my path to misery and 
ruin ; you cannot be without some responsibility for its 
conduct. I ask you now, as a man — nay, as an individ- 
ual — to call it off. You can do it well enough if you 
only choose ; you know you can.” 

But Barnjum wouldn’t; he only looked at his own 
wraith with a grim satisfaction as it capered in an im- 
becile fashion upon the rug. 

“Do,” I implored him; “I would do it for yoii,^ 
Barnjum. I’ve had it about me for six months, and I 
am so sick of it.” 

Still he hesitated. Some waits outside were playing 
one of those pathetic American melodies — I forget now 
whether it was “ Silver Threads among the Gold,” or 
“In the Sweet By-and-By” — but, at all events, they 


THE WUAITH OF BAUNJUM. 


103 


struck some sympathetic chord in Barn j urn’s rongli 
bosom, for his face began to twitch, and present!}^ he 
burst unexpectedly into tears. 

“You don’t deserve it,” he said between his sobs, 
“but be it so;” then, turning to the ghost, he added: 
“Here, you, what’s your name? avaunt! D’ye hear, 
hook it ! ” 

It wavered for an instant, and then, to my joy, it sud- 
denly “ gave ” all over, and, shrivelling up into a sort of 
cobweb, was drawn by the draught into the fireplace, 
and carried up the chimney, and I never saw it again. 

Barnj urn’s escape was very simple; he had fallen 
upon one of the herring-boats in the lake, and the heap 
of freshly-caught fish lying on the deck had merely 
broken his fall instead of his neck. As soon as he had 
recovered from the effects, he was called away from tliis 
country upon urgent business, and found himself unable 
to return for months. 

But to this day the appearance of the wraith is a 
mystery to me. If Barnj um had been the kind of man 
to be an “ esoteric Buddhist,” it might be accounted for 
as an “ astral shape ; ” but esoteric Buddhism requires 
an exemplary character and years of abstract meditation 
— both of which conditions were far beyond Barnj urn’s 
attainment. 

The shape may have been one of those subtle emana- 
tions which we are told some people are constantly shed- 
ding, like the coats of an onion, and which certain con- 
ditions of the atmosphere, and the extreme activity of 
Barnjum’s mind under sudden excitement, possibly con- 
tributed to materialize in this particular instance. 


104 


THE WRAITH OF BARNJUM, 


Or, perhaps, it was merely a capi-ice of one of those 
vagrant Poltergeists^ or supernatural buffoons, which 
took upon itself, very officiously, the duty of avenging 
my behavior to Barnjum. 

Upon one point I am clear : the whole of this system 
of deliberate persecution being undertaken directly on 
Barn j urn’s account, he is morally and legally bound to 
reimburse me for the heavy expense and damage which 
have resulted therefrom. 

Hitherto I have been unable to impress Barnjum 
with this principle, and so my wrongs are still without 
redress. 

I may be asked wffiy I do not make them the basis of 
an action at law ; but persons of any refinement will 
understand my reluctance to resort to legal proceedings 
against one with whom I have at least lived on a footing 
of friendship. I would fain persuade, and shrink from 
appealing to force ; and, besides, I have not succeeded 
as yet in persuading any solicitor — even a shady one — 
to take up my case. 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


A STORY FOR CHILDREN. 


This stoiy is mostly about dolls, and I am afraid that 
all boys, and a good many girls who have tried hard to 
forget that they ever had dolls, will not care about 
hearing it. Still, as I have been very careful to warn 
them at the very beginning, they must not blame me if 
they read on and find that it does not interest them. 

It was after dark, and the criss-cross shadows of the 
high wire-fender were starting in and out on the walls 
and ceiling of Winifred’s nursery in the dickering fire- 
light, and Winifred’s last new doll Ethelinda was sitting 
on the top of a chest of drawers, leaning back languidly 
against the wall. 

Ethelinda was a particularly handsome doll ; she had 
soft thick golden hair, arranged in the latest fashion, 
full blue eyes, with rather more expression in them than 
dolls’ eyes generally have, a rose-leaf complexion, the 
least little haughty curl on her red lips, and a costume 
that came direct from Paris. 

She ought to have been happy with all these advan- 
tages, and yet she w^as plainly dissatisfied ; she looked 
disgustedly at all around her, at the colored pictures 
from the illustrated papers on the walls, the staring red 
dolls’ house, the big Noah’s ark on the shelf, and the 


lOG 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


dingj^dappled rocking-horse in the corner — she despised 
them all. 

“ I do wish I was back in Eegent Street again,” she 
sighed aloud. 

There was another doll sitting quite close to her, but 
Ethelinda had not made the remark to him, as he did 
not seem at all the sort of person to be encouraged. 

He was certainly odd-looking : his head was a little 
too big for his body, and his body was very much too 
big for his legs ; he had fuzzy white hair, and a face 
which was rather like Punch’s — only with all the fun 
taken out of it. 

Wlien anj^one pinched him in the chest hard, he 
squeaked and shut his eyes, as if it hurt him — and very 
likely it did. He wore a tawdry jester’s dress of red 
and blue, and once he had even carried a cymbal in 
each hand and clapped them together every time they 
made him squeak ; but he had always disliked being 
obliged to make so much noise, for he was of a quiet 
and retiring nature, and so he had got rid of his unmu- 
sical instruments as soon as he could. 

Still, even without the cymbals, his appearance was 
hardly respectable, and Ethelinda was a little annoyed 
to find him so near her, though he never guessed her 
feelings, which was fortunate for him, for he had fallen 
in love with her. 

Since he first entered the nursery he had had a good 
deal of knocking about, but his life there liad begun to 
seem easier to put up with from the moment she formed 
part of it. 

He had never dared to speak to her before, she had 
never given him the chance ; and besides, it was quite 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


107 


enough for him to look at her ; but now he thought she 
meant to be friendly and begin a conversation. 

‘‘ Are you very dull here then ? ” he asked rather 
nervously. 

Ethelinda stared at first ; no one had introduced him, 
and she felt very much inclined to take no notice ; how- 
ever, she thought after her long silence that it might 
amuse her to talk to somebod}^ even if it was only a 
shabby common creature like this jester. 

So she said, “Dull! You were never in Regent 
Street, or you wouldn’t ask such a question.” 

“ I came from the Lowther Arcade,” he said. 

“ Oh, really ? ” drawled Ethelinda ; “ then, of course, 
this would be quite a pleasant change for you.” 

“ I don’t know,” he said ; “ I like the Arcade. It 
was so lively ; a little noisy perhaps — too much top 
spinning, and pop-gunning, and mouth-organ playing 
all round one — but very cheerful. Yes, I liked the 
Arcade.” 

“ Yery mixed the society there, isn’t it ? ” she asked ; 
“ aren’t you expected to know penny things ? ” 

“Well there were a good many penny things there,” 
he owned, “ and very amusing they 'were. There was a 
wooden bird there that used to duck his head and wag 
his tail when they swung a weight underneath — he 
would have made you laugh so ! ” 

“ I hope,” said Ethelinda freezingly, should never so 
far forget myself as to laugh under any circumstances — 
and certainly not at penny thing 1 ” 

“ I wondGr:> how much he cost ? ” she thought ; “ not 
very much, I can see from his manner. But perhaps I 
can get him to tell me. Do you remembei-,” she asked 


108 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


aloud, what was the— ah — the prerniuni they asked for 
introducing you here — did you happen to catch the 
amount ? ” 

“ Do you mean my price ? ” he said ; “ oh, eleven- 
pence three farthings — it was on the ticket.’- 

What a vulgar creature ! ” thought Ethelinda ; “ I 
shall really have to drop him.” 

“ Dear me,” she said, ‘‘ that sounds very reasonable, 
very moderate indeed ; but perhaps you were ‘ re- 
duced ? ’ ” for she thought he would be more bearable if 
he had cost a little more once. 

‘‘I don’t think so,” he said; “-that’s the fair selling 
price.” 

“Well, that’s very curious,” said she, “ because the 
young man at Regent Street (a most charming person, 
by the way) positively wouldn’t part with 7ne under 
thirty-five shillings, and he said so many delightful 
things about me that I feel quite sorry for him some- 
times, when I think how he must be missing me. But 
then, very likely he’s saying the same thing about some 
other doll now ! ” 

“ I suppose he is,” said the jester (he had seen some- 
thing of toy-selling in his time) ; “ it’s his business, you 
know.” 

“ I don’t see how you can possibly tell,” said Ethe- 
linda, who had not expected him to agree with her ; 
“ the Lowther Arcade is not Regent Street.” 

The jester did not care to dispute this. “ And were 
you very happy at Regent Street ? ” he asked. 

“Happy?” she repeated. “Well, I do'fl’t know; at 
least, one was not bored there. I was in the best set, 
you see, the two-guinea one, and they were always get- 


A TOY TRAOEDY, 


109 


ting lip something to amuse ns in the window— a review, 
or a sham fight, or a garden-party, or something. Last 
winter tliey gave us a fancy-dress ball — I went as Mary 

Stuart, and was very much admired. But here ” 

and she finished the sentence with a disdainful little 
shrug. 

“ I don’t think you’ll find it so very bad here, when 
you get a little more used to it,” he said ; “ our mis- 
tress ” 

Pray don’t use that very unpleasant word,” she in- 
terrupted sharply. “ Did you never hear of ‘ dolls’ 
rights ? ’ We call these people ‘ hostesses.’ ” 

Well, our hostess, then — Winifred, she’s not unkind. 
She doesn’t care much about me, and that cousin of 
hers, Master Archie, gives me a bad time of it when I 
come in his way, but really she’s very polite and at- 
tentive to yotiy 

“ Polite and attentive ! ” sneered Ethelinda (and if 
you have never seen a doll sneer, you can have no idea 
how alarming it is). don’t call it an attention to be 
treated like a baby by a little chit of a girl who can’t 
dress herself properly yet — no style, no elegance, and 
actually a pinafore in the mornings ! ” 

This is the way some of these costly lady dolls talk 
about their benefactresses when the gas is out and they 
think no one overhears them. I don’t know whether 
the plain old-fashioned ones, who are not so carefully 
treated, but often more tenderly loved, are as bad ; but 
it is impossible to say — dolls are exceedingly artful, and 
there are persons, quite clever in other things, who will 
tell you honestly that they do not understand them in 
the least. 


110 


A TOY TRAOEDY, 


Then the society laere,” Ethelinda went on, without 
much consideration for the other’s feelings — perhaps 
she thought he was too cheap to have any — “ it’s really 
something too dreadful for wwds. Why, those people 
ill the poky little house over there, witli only four rooms 
and a front door they can’t open, have never had the 
decency to call upon me. Not that I should take any 
notice, of course, if they did, but it just shows what 
they are. And the other day I actually overheard one 
frightful creature in a print dress, with nothing on her 
head but a great tin- tack, ask another horror ^ which she 
liked best — make-helieve tea 07' orange-juice ! ’ ” 

‘‘Well, 1 prefer make-believe tea myself,” said the 
jester, “because, you see, I can’t get the orange-juice 
down, and so it’s rather bad for the dress and com- 
plexion.” 

“ Possibly,” she said scornfully. “ I’m thankful to 
say I’ve not been called upon to try it myself — even 
Miss Winifred knows better tlian that. But, anyhow, 
it’s horribly insipid here, and I suppose it will be like 
this always now. I did hope once that when I went 
out into the world I should be a heroine and have a 
romance of my own.” 

“ What is a romance ? ” he asked. 

“ I thought you wouldn’t understand me,” she said ; 
“ a romance is — well, there’s champagne in it, and ciga- 
rettes, to begin with.” 

“But what is champagne?” he interrupted. 

“ Something you drink,” she said ; “ what else could 
it be ? ” 

“ I see,” he said ; “ a sort of orange-juice.” 

“ Orange- juice ! ” Ethelinda cried contemptuously; 


A TOY TBAOEDY. 


Ill 


“it’s not in the least like orange-juice ; it’s ” (she 

didn’t know what it was made of herself, but there was 
no use in telling him so) “ I couldn’t make you under- 
stand without too much trouble, you really are so very 
ignorant, but there’s a good deal of it in romances. And 
dukes, and guardsmen, and being very beautiful and 
deliciously miserable, till just before the end — that’s a 
romance ! My milliner used to have it read out to her 
while she was dressing me for that ball I told you about.” 

“ Do you mind telling me what a heroine is ? ” he 
asked. “ I know I’m very stupid.” 

“ A heroine ? oh, any doll can be a heroine. I felt 
all the time the heroines were all just like me. They 
were either very good or very wicked, and I’m sure I 
could be the one or the other if I got the chance. I 
think it would be more amusing, perhaps, to be a little 
wicked, but then it’s not quite so easy, you know.” 

“ I should think it would be more uncomfortable,” he 
suggested. 

“ Ah, but then you see you haven’t any sentiment 
about you,” she said disparagingly. 

“ No,” he admitted, “ I’m afraid I haven’t. I sup- 
pose they couldn’t put it in for elevenpence three 
farthings.” 

“ I should think not,” Ethelinda observed, “ it’s very 
expensive^ And then, after a short silence, she said 
more confidentially, “ You were talking of Master Archie 
just now. I rather like that boy, do you know ? I be- 
lieve I could make something of him if he would only 
let me.” 

“ He’s a mischievous boy,” said the jester, “ and ill- 
natured too,” 


112 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


“Yes, ianH he ? ” she agreed admiringly ; “ I like him 
for that. I fancy a dnke or a‘ guardsman must be 
something like him ; they all had just his wicked black 
eyes and long restless fingers. It wouldn’t be quite 
so dull if he would notice me a little ; but he never 
will ! ” 

“ He’s going back to school next week,” the jester 
said rather cheerfully. 

“ So soon 1 ” sighed Ethelinda. “ There’s hardly 
time for him to make a real heroine of me before 
that. How I wish he would ! I shouldn’t care how he 
did it, or what came of it. I’m sure I should enjoy it, 
and it would give me something to think about all my 
life.” 

“ Say that again, my dainty little lady ; say it again ! ” 
cried a harsh, jeering voice from beside them, “ and, if 
you really mean it, perhaps the old Sausage-Glutton can 
manage it for you. He’s done more wonderful things 
than that in his time, I can tell you.” 

The voice came from an old German clock which stood 
on the mantelpiece, or rather, from a strange painted 
wooden figure which was part of it — an ugly old man, 
wEo sat on the top with a plate of sausages on his knees, 
and a fork in one hand. Every minute he slowly 
forked up a sausage from the plate to his mouth, and 
swallowed it suddenly, while his lower jaw wagged, and 
his narrow eyes rolled as it went down in a truly horri- 
ble manner. 

The children had long since given him the name of 
“ Sausage-Glutton,” which he richly deserved. He was 
a sort of magician in his way, having so much clock- 
work in his inside, and he was spiteful and malicious. 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


118 


owing to the quantity of wooden sausages he bolted, 
which would have ruined any one’s digestion and 
temper. 

Good gracious ! ” cried Ethelinda, with a start, “ who 
is that person ? ” 

“ Somebody who can be a good kind friend to you, 
pretty lady, if you only give him leave. So you want 
some excitement here, do you? You want to be wicked, 
and interesting, and unfortunate, and all the rest of it, 
eh ? And you’d like young Archibald (a nice boy that, 
by the way), you’d like him to give you a little romance ? 
Well, then, he shall, and to-morrow too, hot and strong, 
if you like to say the word.” 

Ethelinda was too much fluttered to speak at first, 
and she was a little afraid of the old man, too, for he 
leered all round in such an odd wa^^ and ate so fast and 
jerkily. 

“ Don’t — oh, please don’t ! ” cried a little squeaky 
voice above him. It came from a queer little angular 
doll, with gold-paper wings, a spangled muslin dress, 
and a wand with a tinsel star at the end of it, who was 
fastened up on the wall above a picture. ‘‘ You won’t 
like it — you won’t, really ! ” 

“ Don’t trust him,” wdiispered the jester ; “ he’s a bad 
old man ; he ruined a veiy promising young dancing 
nigger only the other day, unliinged him so that he will 
never hook on any more.” 

‘‘ Ha, ha ! ” laughed the Sausage-Glutton, as he dis- 
posed of another sausage, “ that old fellow in the 
peculiar coat is jealous, you know ; he can’t make a 
heroine of you, and so he doesn’t want any one else to. 
Who cares what he savs ? And as for our little wooden 
8 


114 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


friend np above, well, I should hope a dainty duchess 
like YOU is not going to let herself be dictated to by a low 
jointed creature, who sets up for a fairy when she 
knows her sisters dance round white hats every Derby 
Day. 

They’re not sisters ; they’re second cousins,” squeaked 
the poor Dutch doll, very much hurt, “ and they don’t 
mean any harm by it ; it’s only their high spirits. And 
whatever you say, /’m a fairy. I had a Christmas-tree 
of my own once ; but I had to leave it, it was so ex- 
pensive to keep up. 'Now, you take my advice, my 
dear, do,” she added to Ethelinda, “ don’t you listen to 
liim. He’d give all his sausages to see you in trouble, 
he would ; but he can’t do anything unless you give 
him leave.” 

But of course it would have been a little too absurd if 
Ethelinda had taken advice from a flat-headed twopenny 
doll and a flabby jester from the Lowther Arcade. 
^‘My good creatures,” she said to them, ‘‘ you mean 
well, no doubt, but pray leave this gentleman and me 
to settle our own affairs. Can you really get Master 
Archie to take some notice of me, sir ? ” she said to the 
figure OTi the clock. 

“ I can, my loveliest,” he said. 

“ And will it be exciting,” she asked, “ and romantic, 
and — and just the least bit wicked, too ? ” 

“ You shall be the very wickedest heroine in any 
nursery in the world,” he replied. “ Oh, dear me, how 
you will enjoy yourself ! ” 

“ Then I accept,” said Ethelinda ; “ I put myself 
quite in your hands — I leave everything to you.” 

“ That’s right ! ” cried the Sausage-Glutton, “ that’s a 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


115 


brave little beauty. It’s a bargain, then ? To-morrow 
afternoon the fiin will begin, and then — my springs 
and wheels — what a time you will have of it ! He, he ! 
You look out for Archibald ! ” 

And then he trembled all over as the clock struck 
twelve, and went on eating his sausages without another 
word, while Ethelinda gave herself up to delightful an- 
ticipations of the wonderful adventures that were actu- 
ally about to happen to her at last. 

But the jester felt very uneasy about it all ; he felt so 
sure that the old Sausage-Glutton’s amiability had some 
trickery underneath it. 

‘‘ You are a fairy, aren’t you ? ” he said to the Dutch 
doll in a whisper ; ‘‘ can’t you do anything to help her ? ” 
Ho,” she said sulkily ; “ and if I could, I wouldn’t. 
She has chosen to put herself in his power, and what- 
ever comes of it will serve her right. I don’t know what 
he means to do, and I can’t stop him. Still, if I can’t 
help her, I can help you ; and you may want it, because 
he is sure to be angry with you for trying to warn her.” 

“ But I never gave him leave to meddle with m<?,” 
said the jester. 

“ Have you got sawdust or bran inside you, or what ? ” 
asked the fairy. 

Neither,” he said ; only the bellows I squeak with, 
and wire. But why ? ” 

“ I was afraid so. It’s only the dolls with sawdust or 
bran inside them that he can’t do whatever he likes with 
without their consent. He can do anything he chooses 
with you ; but he shan’t hurt you this time, if you only 
take care— for I’ll grant you the very next thing you 
wish. Only do be careful now about wishing ; don’t be 


116 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


in a hniTy and waste the wish. Wait till things are at 
their very worst.” 

“ Thank you very much,” he said ; “ I don’t mind for 
myself so much, but I should like to prevent any harm 
fi’om coming to her. I’ll remember.” 

Then he bent towards Ethelinda and whispered: 

You didn’t believe what the old man on the clock told 
you about me, did you ? I’m not jealous — I’m only a 
poor jester, and you’re a great lady. But you’ll let me 
sit by 3’ou, and you’ll talk to me sometimes in the even- 
ings as you did to-night, won’t you ? ” 

But Ethelinda, though she heard him plainly, pre- 
tended to be fast asleep — it was of no consequence to her 
whether he was jealous or not. 

Winifred was sitting the next afternoon alone in her 
nursery, trying to play. She was a dear little girl about 
nine years old, with long, soft, brown hair, a straight 
little nose, and brown eyes which just then had a wist- 
ful, dissatisfied look in them — for the fact was that, for 
some reason or other, she could not get on with her dolls 
at all. 

The jester was not good-looking enough for her ; they 
had put his eyes in so carelessly, and his face had such 
a “ queer ” look, and he was altogether a limp, unman- 
ageable person. She always said to herself that she' 
liked him ‘‘for the sake of the giver,” poor clumsy, 
good-hearted Martha, the housemaid, who had left in 
disgrace, and presented him as her parting gift ; but one 
might as well not be cared for at all as be liked in that 
roundabout way. 

And Ethelinda, beautiful and fashionable as she was, 


A TOT TRAGEDY. 


117 


was not friendl}^ and Winifred never could get intimate 
with her ; she felt afraid to treat her as a small child 
younger than herself, it seemed almost a liberty to nurse 
lier, for Ethelinda seemed to be quite grown up and to 
ktiow far more than she did herself. 

She sat there looking at Ethelinda, and Ethelinda 
stared back at her in a cold, distant way, as if she half 
remembered meeting her somewhere before. There 
was a fixed smile on her vermilion lips which seemed 
false and even a little contemptuous to poor lonely little 
Winifred, who thought it was hard that her own doll 
should despise her. 

The jester’s smile was amiable enough, though it was 
rather meaningless, but then no one cared about him or 
how he smiled, as he lay unnoticed on his back in the 
corner. 

You would not have guessed it from their faces, but 
both dolls were really very much excited ; each was 
thinking about the Sausage-Glutton and his vague prom- 
ises, and wondering if, and how, those promises were to 
be carried out. 

The wooden magician himself was bolting his sau- 
sage a minute on the top of the clock just as usual, only 
the jester fancied his cunning eyes rolled round at them 
with a peculiar leer as a cheerful whistle was heard on 
the stairs outside. 

A moment afterward a lively brown-faced boy in 
sailor dress put his head in at the door. “ Hullo, Win- 
nie,” he said, “ are you all alone ? ” 

“ ]^urse has gone downstairs,” said Winnie, plaintive- 
ly ; ‘‘ I’ve got the dolls, but it’s dull here somehow. 
Can’t you come and help me to play, Archie ? ” 


118 


A TOT TRAGEDY. 


Archie had been skating all the morning, and could 
not settle down just then to any of his favorite books, 
so he had come up to see Winnie with the idea of find- 
ing something to amuse him there — for though he was 
a boy, he did unbend at times, so far as to help her in 
her games, out of which he managed to get a good deal 
of amusement in his own peculiar way. 

But of course he had to make a favor of it, and must 
not let Winifred see that it was anything but a sacri- 
fice for him to consent. 

I’ve got other things to do,” he said ; “ and you know 
you always make a fuss when I do play with you. Look 
at last time ! ” 

“Ah, but then you played at being a slave-driver, 
Archie, and you made me sell you my old black Dinah 
for a slave, and then you tied her up and whipped her. 
I didn’t like that game ! But if you’ll stay this time, 
I won’t mind what else you do ! ” 

For Archie had a way of making the dolls go through 
exciting adventureg, at which Winifred assisted with 
a fearful wonder that had a fascination about it. 

“ Girls don’t know how to play wfith dolls, and that’s 
a fact,” said Archie. “ I could get more fun out of that 
dolls’ house than a dozen girls could ” (he would have 
set fire to it) ; “ but I tell you what : if you’ll let me do 
exactly what I like, and don’t go interfering, except 
when I tell you to, perhaps I will stay a little while — 
not long, you know.” 

“I promise,” said Winifred, “if you won’t break 
anything. I’ll do just what you tell me.” 

“ Yery well then, here goes ; let’s see who you’ve got. 
I say, who’s this in the swell dress ? ” 


A TOY TRAGEDY, 


119 


He was pointing to Etlielinda, whose brain began to 
tingle at once with a delicious excitement. “ He has 
noticed me at last,” she thought ; ‘‘ I wonder if I could 
make him fall desperately in love with me ! ” and she 
turned her big blue eyes full npon him. “Ah, if 1 
could only speak — bnt perhaps I shall presently. I’m 
quite sure the romance is going to begin ! ” 

“That’s Etlielinda, Archie — isn’t she pretty?” 

“ I’ve seen them uglier,” he said ; “ she’s like that Eve 
de Something we saw at Druiy Lane — we’ll have her, 
and there’s that chap in the fool’s dress, we may want 
him. Now we’re ready.” 

“ What are yon going to do with them, Archie ? ” 

“ Yon leave that to me. I’ve an idea, something 
much better than your silly tea-parties.” 

“ Why doesn’t he tell that child to go ? ” thought 
Etlielinda, “ we don’t want her! ” 

“Isow listen, Winifred,” said Archie: “this is the 
game. You’ re a beautiful queen (only do sit up and 
take that linger out of your mouth— queens don’t do 
that). Well, and I’m the king, and this is your maid 
of honor, the beautiful Lady Etlielinda, see?” 

“ Go on, Archie ; I see,” cried Winifred ; “ and I like 
it so far.” 

“I think / ought to have been the queen!” said 
Etlielinda to herself. 

“ Well, now,” said the boy, “ I’ll tell you something. 
This maid of honor of yours doesn’t like you (don’t 
say she does, now ; I’m telling this, and I know). You 
watch her carefully. Can’t you see a sort of look in her 
face as if she didn’t think much of you ?” 


120 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


‘‘ Plow clever he is,” thought Ethelinda ; he knows 
exactly how I feel ! ” 

“ Do you really think it’s that, Archie ? ” said Wini- 
fred ; “it’s just what I was afraid of before you came in.” 

“ That’s it. Look out for a kind of glare in her eye 
wlien I pay you any attention. (How does Your Majesty 
do? Well, I hope.) There, didn’t you see it ? Well, 
that’s jealousy, that is. She hates 3-011 like anything ! ” 

“ I’m sure she doesn’t, then,” protested Winifred. 

“ Oh, well, if you know better than I do, you can 
finish it for yourself. I’m going.” 

“ Ho, no ; do stay. I like it. I’ll be good after this ! ” 

“Don’t you interrupt again, then. How the real 
truth is that she’d like to be queen instead of you ; 
she’s ambitious, you know — that’s what’s the matter 
with her. And so she’s got it into her head that if you 
were only out of the way, I should ask her to be the 
next queen ! ” 

Winifred could not say a word, she was so overcome 
by the idea of her doll’s unkindness ; and Archie took 
Ethelinda by the waist and brought her near her royal 
mistress as he said : “How you’ll see how artful she 
is ; she’s coming to ask 3^11 if she may go out. Listen. 
‘ Please, Your Gracious Majesty, may I go out for a 
little while ? ’ ” 

“ This is even better than if I spoke myself,” Ethe- 
linda thought ; “ he can talk for me, and I do believe 
I’m going to be quite wicked presently.” 

“Am I to speak to her, Archie?” Winifred asked, 
feeling a little nervous. 

“ Of course you are. Go on ; don’t be silly ; give 
her leave.” 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


121 


Certainly, Ethelinda, if yon wish it,” replied Wini- 
fred, with a happy recollection of her mother’s manner 
on somewhat similar occasions, “but I should like you 
to be in to prayers.” 

“ A maid of honor isn’t the same as a housemaid^ you 
know,” said Archie ; “ but never mind — she’s off. You 
don’t see where she goes, of course.” 

“ Yes I do,” said Winifred. 

“ Ah, but not in the game ; nobody does. She goes 
to the apothecary’s — here’s the apothecary’s.” And he 
caught hold of the jester, who thought helplessly, “ Pin 
being brought into it now ; I wish he’d let me alone — 
I don’t like it!” “Well, so she saj^s, ‘Oh, if you 
please, Mr. Apothecary, I want some arsenic to kill the 
royal blackbeetles with ; not much — a pound or two will 
be plenty.’ So he takes down a jar (here Archie got 
up and fetched a big bottle of citrate of magnesia from 
a cupboard), and he weighs it out, and wraps it up, and 
gives it to her. And he says, ‘ You’ll mind and be very 
careful with it, my lady. The dose is one pinch in a 
teaspoonful of treacle to each blackbeetle, the last thing 
at night ; but it oughtn’t to be left about in places.’ 
And so Lady Ethelinda takes it home and hides it.” 

“ I’ve bought some poison now,” thought Ethelinda, 
immensely delighted, “ I am a wicked doll I How con- 
venient it is to have it all done for one like this ! I do 
hope he’s going to make me give Winifred some of that 
stuff, to get her out of the way, and have the romance 
all to our two selves.” 

“ Now you and I,” Archie continued, “ haven’t the 
least idea of all this. But one day, the Court jester (“I 
was an apothecary just now,” thought the jester; “it’s 


122 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


really very confusing!”) — the Court jester comes up, 
looking very grave, and speaks of her. The reason of 
that is that he’s angry with her because she never will 
have anything to do with him, and he says that he’s 
seen her folding up a powder in paper and writing on 
it, and he thought I ought to be told about it.” This 
is awful,” thought the jester. ‘‘ What will Ethelinda 
think of me for telling tales ? and what has come to 
Ethelinda? It’s all that miserable Sausage-Glutton’s 
doing — and I can’t help myself 1 ”) 

“Well, I’m very much surprised of course,” said 
Archie ; “ any king would be — but I wait, and one day, 
when she has gone out for a holiday, the jester and I go 
to her desk and break it open.” 

“Oh, Archie,” objected the poor little Queen in de- 
spair, “ isn’t that rather mean of you ? ” 

“Now look here, Winnie, I can’t have this sort of 
thing every minute. For a gentleman, it might be 
rather mean, perhaps, but then I’m a king, and I’ve got 
a right to do it, and it’s all for your sake, too — so you 
can’t say anything. Besides, it’s the jester does it; I 
only look on. Well, and by-and-by,” said Archie, as he 
scribbled something laboriously on a piece of paper “by- 
and-by he finds this ! ” 

And with imposing gravity he handed Winifred a 
folded paper, on which she read with real terror and 
grief the alarming words — “ Poisinfor the Queue / ” 

“ There, what do you think of that ? ” he asked tri- 
umphantly ; “ looks bad, doesn’t it ? ” 

“ Perhaps,” suggested the Queen feebly, “ perhaps it 
was only in fun ? ” 

“Fun — there’s not much fun about her! Now the 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


123 


guard ” (here he used the bewildered jester once more) 
“ arrests her. Do you want to ask the prisoner any 
questions ? — you can if you like.” 

“ You — you didn’t mean to poison me really, did you, 
Etheliiida dear?” said Winifred, who was taking it all 
very seriously, as she took most things. ‘‘Archie, do 
make her say something ! ” 

“ AVhy can’t you answer when the Queen asks you a 
question, eh?” demanded Archie. “No, she won’t say 
a word ; she’ll only grin at you ; yon see she’s quite har- 
dened. There’s only one thing that would make her 
confess,” he added cautiously, aware that he w^as on 
rather delicate ground, “ and that’s the torture. I could 
make a beautiful rack, Winnie, if you didn’t mind ? ” 

“ Whatever she’s done,” said the Queen, firmly, “I’m 
not going to have her tortured ! And I believe she’s 
sorry inside and w'ants me to forgive her ! ” 

“ Then why doesn’t she say so? ” said Archie. “No, 
no, Winnie. Look here, this is a serious thing, you 
know; it won’t do to pass it over; it’s high treasoh, and 
she’ll have to be tried.” 

“ But I don’t want her tried,” said Winifred. 

“ Oh, very well then ; I had better go downstairs 
again and read. The best part was all coming, but if 
you don’t care, I’m sure I don’t ! ” 

“Little idiot!” thought Ethelinda angrily, “she’ll 
spoil the whole thing ; every heroine has to be tried 1 ” 
But Winnie gave in, as she usually did, to Archie. 
“Well, then, she shall be tried if you really think she 
ought to be, Archie ; it w^on’t hurt her though, will it?” 

“Of course it won’t; it’s all right. Now for the 
trial : here’s the court, and here’s a place for the judge” 


124 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


(he built it all np with books and bricks as he spoke) ; 
“ here’s the dock — stick Lady What’s-her-name inside 
— that’s it. We must do without a jury, but I suppose 
we ought to have a judge ; oh, this fellow will do for 
judge ! ” 

And he seized the jester and raised him to the Bench 
at once. The jester was more puzzled than ever. 
“Now I’m 2 i judge^’’ he thought, “I shall have to tiy 
her ; but I’m glad of it — I’ll let her off ! ” 

But unluckily he very soon found that he had no voice 
at all in the matter, except what Archie chose to lend 
him. 

“ Oil, but Archie,” said Winifred, wdio was determined 
to defeat the ends of justice if she possibly could, “can 
a jester be a judge % ” 

“ Why not ? ” said Archie ; “judges make jokes some- 
times — I’ve heard papa say so, and he’s a barrister, and 
ought to know.” 

“ But this one doesn’t make real jokes ! ” persisted 
Winifred. 

“Who asked him to? Judges are not obliged to 
make jokes, Winnie. I believe j'ou are trying to get 
her off, but I’m going to see justice done, I tell you. 
So now then. Lady Ethelinda, you are charged with 
high treason and trying to poison Her Most Gracious 
Majesty, Queen AVinifred Gladys Bobertson, by putting 
arsenic in Her Majesty’s tea. Guilty or not guilty ! 
Speak up ! ” 

Not guilty!” put in Winifred quickly, thinking 
that would settle the whole trial comfortably. “ There, 
Archie, you can’t say she didn’t speak that time ! ” 

“ Now, you have done it 1 ” Archie said triumphantly. 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


125 


“ If she’d confessed, we might have shown mercy. Kow 
we shall have to prove it, and if we do I’m sorry for 
her, that’s all ! ” 

“ If she says ‘ Guilty, and she won’t do it again ! ’ ” 
suggested Winifred. 

It’s too late for that now,” said Archie, who was not 
going to have his trial cut short in that way : no, we 
must prove it.” 

But how are you going to prove it ? ” 

You wait. I’ve been in court once or twice with 
papa, and seen him prove all sorts of things. First, we 
must have in the feliow who sold the poison — the apoth- 
ecary, yon know. Oh, I sa}^, though, I forgot that — he’s 
the judge ; that won’t do ! ” 

“ Then you can’t prove it after all — I’m so glad ! ” 
cried the Queen, with her eyes sparkling. 

One would think you rather liked being poisoned,” 
said Archie, in an offended tone. 

I like magnesia, and it isn’t poison, really — it’s 
medicine.” 

“ It isn’t magnesia now ; it’s arsenic; and slie shan’t 
get off like this. I’ll call the apothecary’s young man, 
lie’ll prove it (this brick is the apothecary’s young man). 
There, he says it’s all right; she did it right enough. 
Kow for the sentence! (put a penwiper on the judge’s 
head, will you, Winnie ; it’s solemner).” 

“ What’s a sentence ? ” asked Winifred, much dis- 
turbed at these ill-omened arrangements. 

“You’ll see; this is the judge talking now : ‘Lady 
Ethelinda, you’ve been found guilty of very bad con- 
duct ; you’ve put arsenic in your beloved Queen’s 
tea ! ’ ” 


126 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


“ Why, I haven’t had tea yet ! ” protested the Sover- 
eign. 

‘‘ ‘ Her Majesty is respectfully ordered not to inter- 
rupt the judge when he’s summing up ; it puts him out. 
"Well, as I was saying, Lady Ethelinda, I’m sorry to tell 
you that we shall have to cut your head off ! ’” 

“ What have I done ? ” thought the jester ; “ she’ll 
think I’m in earnest ; she’ll never forgive me ! ” 

But Ethelinda was perfectly delighted, for not one of 
her heroines had ever been in such a romantic position 
as this. And of course,” she thought, “ it will all 
come right in the end ; it always does.” 

Winifred, however, was terrified by the sternness of 
the court : “ Archie,” she cried, “she mustn’t have her 
head cut off.” 

“ It will be all right, Winnie, if you will only leave 
it to me and not interfere. You promised not to inter- 
rupt, and yet you will keep on doing it! ” 

Archie’s head was full of executions just then, for he 
had been reading “ The Tower of London ; ” he had 
been artfully leading up to an execution from the very 
first, and he meant to have his own way. 

But first he amused himself by working upon Wini- 
fred’s feelings, which ^vas a bad habit of his on these 
occasions. To do him justice, he did not know how 
keenly she felt things, and how soon she forgot it was 
only pretence ; it flattered him to see how easily he 
could make Winifred cry about nothing, and he never 
guessed what real pain he was giving her. 

“Winnie,” he began very dolefully, “she’s in prison 
now, languishing in her prison cell, and do you know, I 
rather think her heart’s beginning to soften a little : she 


A TOT TBAOEDY. ' 127 

wants you to come and see her. Yon won’t refuse her 
last request, Winnie, will ^mu ? ” 

‘‘As if I could ! ” cried Winifred, full of the tenderest 
compassion. 

“ Very well then ; this is the last meeting. ‘ My dear 
kind mistress’ (it’s Ethelinda speaking to you now), 
‘ that I once loved so dearly in the happy days when I 
was innocent and good, I couldn’t die till I had asked 
you to forgive me. Let your poor wicked maid-of- 
honor kiss your hand just once more as she used to do ; 
tell her you forgive her about that arsenic.’ isow then, 
Winnie ! ” 

I canHy Archie? ” sobbed Winifred, quite melt- 
ed by this pathetic appeal. 

“ If you don’t, she’ll think you’re angry still, and 
won’t forgive her,” said Archie. “ Just you listen ; this 
is her now : ‘Won’t you say one little word. Your Ma- 
jesty ; you might as well. When I’m gone and moul- 
dering away in my felon’s grave it will be too late then, 
and you’ll be sorry. It’s the last thing I shall ever ask 
you ! ’ ” 

“ Oh, Ethelinda, darling, donH ! ” implored her Queen ; 
“ don’t go on talking in that dreadful way ; I can’t bear 
it. Archie, I must forgive her now ! ” 

“ Oh yes, forgive her,” he said with approval ; 
“ queens shouldn’t sulk or bear malice.” 

“It’s all right,” said Winifred briskly, as she dried 
her eyes ; “ she’s quite good again, l^ow let’s play at 
something not quite so horrid ! ” 

“ AYhen we’ve done with this, we will ; but it isn’t 
half over yet ; there’s all the execution to come. It’s 
the fatal day now, the dismal scaffold is erected ” (here 


128 


A TOT TRAGEDY. 


he made a rough platform and a neat little block with 
the books), ‘‘ the sheriff is mounting guard over it ” 
(and Archie propped up the unfortunate jester against 
a workbox so that he overlooked the scaffold); ‘‘the 
trembling criminal is brought out amid the groans of 
the populace (groan, Winnie, can’t jou ?)” 

“ I shan’t groan,” said Winnie, rebellious! j ; ‘‘I’m a 
queen, not a populace. Archie, you won’t really cut off 
her head, will you ? ” 

“ Don’t be a little duffer,” said he ; “ the end is to be 
a surprise, so I can’t tell you what it is till it comes. 
You’ve heard of pardons ari-iving just in time, haven’t 
you ? Very well then. Only I don’t say one will ar- 
rive here, you know, I only say, w^ait ! ” 

“And now,” he w^ent on, “ I’m not the King any 
longer, I’m the headsman ; and — and I say, Winnie, 
perhaps ^^ou’d better hide your face now ; a queen 
wouldn’t look on at the execution, really ; at least a 
nice queen wouldn’t.” 

So Winifred hid her face in her hands obediently, 
very glad to be spared even the pretence of an execu- 
tion, and earnestly wishing Archie w^as near the end of 
this uncomfortable game. 

But Archie was just beginning to enjoy himself: 
“ The wretched woman,” he announced with immense 
unction, “ is led tottering to the block, and then the 
headsman, very respectfully, cuts off some of her beau- 
tiful golden hair, so that it shouldn’t get in his way.” 

At this point I am sorry to say that Archie, in the 
wdsh to have everything as real as possible, actually did 
snip off a good part of Ethelinda’s flossy curls. Luckily 
for him, his cousin w^as too conscientious and unsuspect- 


A TOT THAO ED Y. 


129 


ing to peep tlirongh her fingers, and never imagined 
that the scissors she heard were really cutting anything 
— she even kept her eyes shut while Archie hunted 
about the room for something, which he found out at 
last, and which was a sword in a red tin scabbard. 

Till then Archie was not quite sure what he really 
meant to do ; at first he had fancied that it would be 
enough for him just to touch Ethelinda lightly with 
the sword, but now (whether the idea had been put in 
his head by the Sausage Glutton, or whether it had 
been there somewhere all the time) he began to think 
how easily the sharp blade would cleave Ethel inda’s 
soft wax neck, and how he could hold up the severed 
head by the hair, just like the executioner in the pic- 
tures, and say solemnly, “ This is the head of a trai- 
tress ! ” 

He knew of course that it would get him into terrible 
trouble, and he ought to have known that it would be 
mean and cowardly of him to take advantage of his poor 
little cousin’s trust in him to deceive her. 

But he did not stop to think of that; the temptation 
was too strong for him ; he had gone so far in cutting off 
her hair that he might just as well cut off her head too. 

So that presently Ethelinda found herself lying help- 
less, with her hands tied behind her, and her close- 
cropped head placed on a thick book, while Archie stood 
over her with a cruel gleam in his eyes, and fiourished a 
hashing sword. 

“ I ought to be masked though,” he said suddenly, 
“ or I might be recognized — executioners liad to be 
masked. I’ll tie a handkerchief over my eyes and that 
will have to do.” 


130 


A TOT TRAGEDY. 


And when he had done this, he began to measure the 
distance with his eye, and to make some trial cuts to be 
quite sure of his aim, for he meant to get the utmost 
possible enjoyment out of it. 

Ethelinda began to be terribly friglitened. Being a 
heroine was not nearly so pleasant as she had expected. 
It had cost her most of her beautiful hair already ; was 
it going to cost her her head as well ? 

Too late, she began to see how foolish she had been, 
and that even make-believe tea-parties were better than 
this. She longed to be held safe in tender-hearted little 
Winifred’s arms. 

But Winifred’s eyes were shut tight, and would not 
be opened till — till all was over. Ethelinda could not 
move, could not cry out to her, she was quite helpless, 
and all the time the wicked old man on the clock went 
on steadily swallowing sausage after sausage, as if he 
had nothing at all to do wdth it ! 

The jester Avas even more alarmed for Ethelinda than 
she was for herself ; he was quite certain that Winifred 
was being wickedly deceived, and that the pardon so 
cunningly suggested would never come. 

In another minute this dainty little lady, with the 
sw^eet blue eyes and disdainful smile, would be gone 
from him for ever ; and there was no hope for her — 
none ! 

And the bitterest thing about it was, that, although 
he was a great deal confused, as he very well might be, 
as to how it had all come about, he knew that in some 
w^ay, he himself had taken part (or rather several parts) 
in bringing her to this shameful end, and the poor 
jester, innocent as he was, fancied that her big eyes had 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


131 


a calm scorn and reproach in them as she looked up at 
him sideways from the block. 

“ What shall I do without her ? ” he thought ; “ how 
can I bear it? Ah, I ought to be lying there — not she. 
1 wish I could take her place ! ” 

All this time Archie had been lingering — he lingered 
so long that Winifred lost all patience. “Do make 
haste, Archie,” she said, with a little shudder that shook 
the table. “ I can’t bear it much longer ; I shall have 
to open my eyes ! ” 

“ It was only the mask got in my way,” he said. 
“NoW' I’m ready. One, two, three 

And then there was a whistling swishing sound, fol- 
lowed by a heavy thud, and a flop. 

After that Archie veiy prudently made for the 
door. “ I — I couldn’t help it, really, Winnie,” he stam- 
mered, as she put her hands down with relief and looked 
about, rather dazzled at flrst by the sudden light. “ I’ll 
save up and buy you another twice as pretty. And jmu 
know you said Ethel inda didn’t seem to care about you ! ” 
“ Stop, Archie, what do you mean ? Did you think 
you’d cut her head ofl^ really 1 ” , 

“ Haven’t I ? ” said Archie, stupidly. “ I cut some- 
tiling^ s head off ; I saw it go ! ” 

“ Then you did mean it ! And, oh, it’s the jester ! 
I wouldn’t have minded it so much, if you hadn’t meant 
it for Ethelinda ! And, Archie, you cruel, bad boy — 
you’ve cut — cut all her beautiful hair off, and I sat there 
and let you ! She’s not pretty at all now — it’s a shame, 
it is a shame ! ” 

Ethelinda had had a wonderful escape, and this is how 
it had happened: 


182 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


The jester had been so anxious about Ethelinda that 
he had forgotten all about the fairy, and how she had 
granted him his very next wish ; but she, being a fairy, 
Jiad to remember it. If he had only thought of it, it 
would have been just as easy to wish Ethelinda safe 
without any harm coming to himself, but he had wished 
“ to take her place,” and the fairy, whether she liked it 
or not, was obliged to keep her promise. 

So the little shake which "Winifred had given the 
table was enough to make Ethelinda roll quietly over 
the edge of the platform, and the jester, who never was 
very firm on his legs, fall forward on his face the next 
moment, exactly where she had lain — and either the 
fairy or the handkerchief over his face prevented Archie 
from finding out the exchange in time. 

Archie tried to defend himself: “ I think she looks 
better with her hair cut short,” he said ; “ lots of girls 
wear it like that. And, don’t you see, "Winnie, this has 
been a plot got up by the jester ; Ethelinda was innoqent 
all the time, and he’s just nicely caught in his own trap. 
. . . That — that’s the surprise ! ” 

“ I don’t believe you one bit ! ” said Winifred. You 
had no business to cut even my jester’s head off, but you 
meant to do much worse ! I won’t play with you any 
more, and I shan’t forgive you till the very day you go 
back to school ! ” 

‘‘But, Winnie,” protested Archie, looking rather 
sheepish and ashamed of himself. 

“Go away directly,” said Winnie, stamping her foot; 
“ I don’t want to listen ; leave me alone ! ” 

So xirchie went, not sorry, now, that an accident had 
kept him from doing his worst, and feeling tolerably 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


133 


certain that he would be able to make his cousin relent 
long before the time she had fixed, while Winifred, left 
to herself again, was so absorbed in sobbing over Ethe- 
linda’s sad disfigurement, that she quite forgot to pick 
up the split halves of the jester’s head which were lying 
on the nursery floor. 

That night Ethelinda had the chest of drawers all to 
herself, and the old Sausage Glutton grinned savagely 
at her from the mantelpiece, for he was disappointed at 
the way in which his plans had turned out. 

“ Good evening,” he began, with one of his nastiest 
sneers. “ And how are you after your little romance, 
eh ? Master Archie very nearly had your pretty little 
empty head off — bnt of course I couldn’t allow that. I 
hope you enjoyed yourself ? ” 

“I did at first,” said Ethelinda; “ I got frightened 
afterward, when I thought it wasn’t going to end at all 
nicely. But did you notice how very wickedly that 
dreadful jester behaved to me — it will be a warning to 
me against associating with such persons in future, and 
I assure you that there was something about him that 
made me shudder from the very first ! I have heard 
terrible things about the dolls in the Lowther Arcade, 
and what can you expect at such prices? Well, he’s re- 
warded for his crimes, and that’s a comfort to think of 
— but it has all upset me very much indeed, and I don’t 
want any more romance — it does shorten the liair so ! ” 
The Dutcli fairy doll heard her and was very angry, 
for she knew of course why the jester had come to a 
tragic ending. 

Shall I tell her now, and make her ashamed and ^ 


134 


A TOY TRAGEDY. 


sorry — would slie believe me ? would slie care ? Per- 
haps not, but I must speak out some time — only I had 
better wait till the clock has stopped. I can’t bear her 
to talk about that poor jester in this way.” 

But it really did not matter to the jester, who could 
hear or feel nothing any more — for they liad thrown 
him into the dustbin, where, unless the dust-cart has 
called since, he is lying still. 


AN UNDEEGEADUATE’S AUNT. 


Francis Flushington belonged to a small college, and 
by becoming a member conferred upon it one of the 
few distinctions it conld boast — the possession of the 
very bashfulest man in the whole university. 

But his college did not treat him with any excess of 
adulation on that account, and, probably from a prudent 
fear of rubbing the bloom otf his modesty, allowed him 
to blush unseen — which was, indeed, the condition in 
which he preferred to blush. 

He felt himself distressed in the presence of his 
fellow-men, by a dearth of ideas and a difficulty in know- 
ing which way to look, that made him happiest when 
he had fastened his outer door, and secured himself 
from all possibility of intrusion — although this was al- 
most an unnecessary precaution on his part, for nobody 
ever thought of coming to see Flushington. 

In appearance he was a man of middle height, with 
a long neck and a large head, which gave him the air 
of being shorter than he really was ; he had little weak 
eyes which were always blinking, a nose and mouth of 
no peculiar shape, and hair of no definite color, 
which he wore long — not because he thought it be- 
coming, but because he hated having to talk to his hair- 
dresser. 

He had a timid, deprecating manner, due to the con- 


136 


yliV UNDERGRADUATE^ S AUNT, 


scionsness tliat he was an uninteresting anomaly, and he 
certainly was as impervious to the ordinary influences of 
his surroundings as any modern undergraduate could 
well be. 

riushington had never particularly wanted to be sent 
to Cambridge, and when he was there he did not enjoy 
it, and had not the faintest hope of distinguishing him- 
self in anything ; he lived a colorless, aimless sort of 
life in his little sloping rooms under the roof, where he 
read every morning from nine till two with a super- 
stitious regularity, even when his books failed to convey 
any ideas whatever to his brain, which was not a remark- 
ably powerful organ. 

If the afternoon was fine, he generally sought out his 
one friend, who was a shade less shy than himself, and 
they went a monosyllabic walk together (for of course 
riushington did not row, or take up athletics in anj 
form) ; if it was wet, I e read the papers and magazines 
at the Union, and in i...e evenings aftei’ hall, he studied 
“general literature” — a graceful periphrasis for novels 
— or laboriously picked out a sonata or a nocturne upon 
his piano, a habit which had not tended to increase his 
popularity. 

Fortunately for Flushington, he had no gyp, or his 
life w^ould have been a burden to him, and with his bed- 
maker he w^as rather a favorite, as a “ gentleman what 
gave no trouble ” — which meant that wflien he observed 
his sherry sinking like the water in a lock when the 
sluices are up, he was too delicate to refer to the phe- 
nomenon in any way. 

One afternoon, when Flushington was engaged over 
his modest luncheon of bread and butter, potted meat, 


A]^ UNDERGRAD DATE A UNT. 137 

and lemonade, lie suddenly became aware of a sound of 
unusual voices and a strange flutter of female dresses 
on the winding stone staircase outside — and was in- 
stantly overcome with a cold dread. 

Now, although there were certainly ladies coming up- 
stairs, there was no reason for alarm ; they were pi’ob- 
ably friends of the man who kept opposite, and w^as 
alw^ays having his people up. But Flushington had 
one of those odd presentiments, so faniilar to nervous 
persons, that something unpleasant was at hand ; he 
could not imagine wdio these ladies might be, but he 
knew instinctively that they were coming to him ! 

If he could only be sure that his outer oak was safely 
latched ! He rose from his chair with wild ideas of 
Yushing to see, of retreating to his bed-room, and hiding 
under the bed until they had gone. 

Too late ! the dresses were rustling now in his very 
passage ; there was a pause evidently before his inner 
door, a few faint and smothered laughs, some little 
feminine coughs, then — two taps. 

Flushington stood still for a moment, feeling like a 
caged animal ; he had thoughts, even then, of conceal- 
ment — was there time to get under the sofa ? No, it 
would be too dreadful if the visitors, whoever they 
were, were to discover him in so iinusual a situation. 

So he ran back to his chair and sat down before cry- 
ing “ Come in ” in a faint voice. He did wish he had 
been reading anything but the work of M. Zola, which 
Yvas propped up in front of him, but there was no time 
to put it away. 

Your mild man often has a taste for seeing the less 
reputable side of life in a safe and second-hand way, 


138 


AN UNDERGRADUATE'S AUNT. 


and Flnsliington would toil manfully through the most 
realistic descriptions without turning a hair ; now^ and 
then he looked out a word in the dictionary, and when 
it was not to be found there — and it generally wasn’t — 
he had a sense almost of injury. But there was a 
strong fascination for him in experiencing the sensa- 
tion of a kind of intellectual orgie, for he knew enough 
of the language to be aware that the incidents frequently 
bordered on the improper, even while it was not ex- 
actl}^ clear in what the impropriet}" consisted. 

As he said Come in,” the door opened, and his 
heart seemed to stop, and all the blood in it rushed 
violently up to his head, as a large lady came sweeping 
in, her face rippling with a broad smile of atfection. 

She horrified Flushington, who knew nobody with 
the smallest claim to smile at him so expansively as 
that, and he drank lemonade to conceal his confusion. 

“You don’t know me, my dear Frank,” she said, 
easily; “why, of course you don’t; how should you? 
Well, I’m (for goodness sake, my dear boy, don’t look 
so dreadfully frightened, I don’t want to eat you !) I’m 
your aunt — your Aunt Amelia; you know me now — 
from Australia, you know ! ” 

This was a severe shock to Flushington, who had not 
even known he possessed such a relative anywhci'e ; all 
he could say just then was, “ Oh, are you ?” which he 
felt at the time was not quite the welcome to give an 
aunt who had come all the way from the Antipodes. 

“Yes, that I am!” she said, cheerily; “but that’s not 
all. I’ve another surprise for you — the dear girls would 
insist upon coming up too, to see their grand college 
cousin ; they’re just outside. I’ll call them in, shall I?” 


AN UNDERQEADUATE'S AUNT. 


139 


And in another second Fliisliington’s small room was 
overrun by a horde of female relatives, while he could 
only look on and gasp. 

They were pretty girls too, most of them, but that 
only frightened him more; he did not mind plain 
women half so much ; some of them looked bright and 
clever as well, and a combination of beauty and intellect 
always reduced him to a condition of hopeless imbecility. 

hie had never forgotten one occasion on which he had 
been captured and introduced to a charming young lady 
from Newnham, and all he could do was to back feebly 
into a corner, murmuring Thank you” repeatedly. 

He showed himself to scarcely more advantage now, 
as his aunt proceeded to single out one girl after another. 
“We needn’t have any formal nonsense between 
cousins,” she said; “yoi know all their names already, 
I dare say. This is Mii.y, and that’s Jane ; and here’s 
Flora, and Kitty, and Margaret, and this is my little 
Thomasina, keeping close to mamma, as usual.” 

Poor Flushington ducked blindly in the various direc- 
tions at the mention of each name, and then collectively 
to all ; he had not sufficient presence of mind to offer 
them chairs, or cake, or anything, and besides, there 
was not nearly enough for that multitude. 

Meanwhile his aunt had spread herself comfortably 
out in his only arm-chair, and was untying her bonnet- 
strings, while she beamed at him until he was ready to 
expire with embarrassment. “I do think, Frankie, 
dear,” she observed at last, “ that when an old auntie 
all the way from Australia takes the trouble to come 
and see you like this, the least — the least you could 
do would be to give her one little kiss.’’ 


140 


AJ^ UNDERGRADUATE'S AUNT. 


She seemed so hurt by the omission, that Flushing- 
ton dared not refuse ; he staggered up and kissed her 
somewhere upon her face — after which he did not 
know which w^ay to look, so terribly afraid was he that 
the same ceremony might have to be gone through 
with all the cousins, and he could not have survived 
that. 

Happily for him, however, they did not appear to 
expect it, and he balanced a chair on its hind legs and, 
resting one knee upon it, waited for them to begin a 
conversation, for he could not think of a single apposite 
remark himself. 

His aunt came to his rescue. ‘‘You don’t ask 
after your Uncle Samuel — have you forgotten all the 
beetles and things he used to send you ? ” she said, re- 
provingly. 

“ No,” said Flushington, to whom Uncle Samuel was 
another revelation. “ How is the beetle — I mean, how 
is Uncle Samuel ? Quite well, I hope ? ” 

“ Only tolerably so, F rank, thank you ; as well as 
could be expected after his loss.” 

“I didn’t hear of that,” said Flushington, catching 
at this conversational rope in despair. “ Was it— did he 
lose much ? ” 

“ I was not referring to a money loss,” she said, and 
her glance was stony for the moment ; “ I was (as I 
think you might have guessed) referring to the death of 
your cousin John.” 

And Flushington, who had begun to feel his first 
agonies abating, had a te^iible relapse at this unhappy 
mistake ; he stammered something about it being very 
sad indeed, and then, wondering why no one had 


AI^ UmEEGMABlTATB^S AUNT. 141 

ever kept him better posted as to his relations, he re- 
solved that he would not betray his ignorance by any 
further inquiries. 

But his aunt was evidently wounded afresh. I ought 
to have known,” she said, and shook her head patheti- 
cally ; ‘‘ they soon forget us when we leave the old 
country — and yet I did think, too, my own sister’s 
son would remember his cousin’s death ! Well, well, my 
loves, we must teach him to know us better now we 
have the opportunity. Frankie dear, the girls and I 
expect you to take us about everywhere and show us all 
the sights ; or what’s the use of having a nephew at 
Cambridge University, you know ? ” 

Fiushington had a horrible mental vision of himself 
careering all over Cambridge at the head of a long pro- 
cession of female relatives, a fearful prospect foi* so shy 
a man. “ Shall you be here long ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, only a week or so ; we’re at the ‘ Bull,’ very 
near 3^011 ; and so we can always be popping in on you. 
And now, Frankie, mj^ boy, will jmu think ^mur aunt a 
veiy bold beggar if she asks you to give us a little some- 
thing to eat ? We wouldn’t wait for lunch, the dear 
children were so impatient, and we’re all ravenous! We 
all thought, the girls and I (didn’t you, dears ?) that it 
would be such fun lunching with a real college student 
in his own room.” 

“Oil,” protested Fiushington, “I assure you there’s 
nothing so extraordinary in it, and — and the fact is, Fin 
afraid there’s very little for you to eat, and the kitchens 
and the butter}^ are closed bythis time.” He said this 
at a venture, for he felt quite unequal to facing the 
colleore cook and ordering lunch from that tremendous 

O O 


142 


AN UNDERGRADUATE'S AUNT. 


personage — he would far rather order it from his tutor 
even . 

“But,” he added, touched bj the little crj of dis- 
appointment which the girls made in spite of themselves, 
‘^if you don’t mind potted h-am — there’s some left in the 
bottom of this tin, and there’s some bread and an inch 
of butter, and a little marmalade and a few milk biscuits 
— and there ^vas some sherry this morning ! ” 

His cousins declared merrily that they were so hungry 
they would enjoy anything, and so they sat round the 
table and poor Flnshington served out meagre rations to 
them of all the provisions he could hunt up, even to his 
figs and his French plums. It was like a shipwreck, ho 
thought, drearily. There was not nearly enough to go 
round, and they lunched with evident disillusionment, 
thinking that the college luxury of which they had heard 
so much had been sadly exaggerated. 

During the meal the aunt began to study Flushington’s 
features with affectionate interest. There’s a stronf^- 
look of poor dear Simon about him when he smiles,” she 
said, looking at him through her gold double-glasses. 
‘‘ There, did you catch it, girls? Just his mother’s pro- 
file ! Turn your face a leetle more to the window; I 
want to get the light on your nose, Frankie ; noio don’t 
you see the likeness to your aunt’s portrait at Gumtree 
Greek, girls ? ” 

And Flushington had to sit still with all the girls’ 
charming eyes fixed critically upon his crimson counte- 
nance, until he would have given worlds to be able to 
slide down under the table and evade them ; but of course 
he was obliged to remain above. 

“ He’s got dear Caroline’s nose ! ” the aunt announced 


AN UNDERGRADUATE^ 8 AUNT. 


143 


triumpliantl}', and the cousins were agreed that he cer- 
tainly^ had Caroline’s nose— which made him feel vaguely 
that he ought at least to offer to return it. 

Presently the youngest and prettiest of the girls whis- 
pered to her mother, who laughed indulgently. ‘‘Why, 
you baby,” she said; “what do you think this silly child 
wants me to ask you, Frankie ? She says she would so 
like to see how you look in your college robes and that 
odd four-cornered hat you all wear. Will you put them 
on, just to please her ? ” 

And he had to put them on and walk slowly up and 
down the room in his cap and gown, feeling all the time 
that he was making a dismal display of himself, and 
that the girls were plainly disappointed, for they ad- 
mitted that somehow they had fancied the academical 
costume would have been more becoming. 

After this came a hotly sustained catechism upon his 
studies, his amusements, his friends, and his mode of 
life generally, and the aunt — Avho by^ this time felt the 
potted ham beginning to disagree with her — seemed to 
be unfavorably impressed by the answers she ob- 
tained. 

This was particularly the case when to the question 
“ what church he attended,” he replied that he attended 
none, as he was alway^s regular at chapel : for the aunt 
was disappointed to find her nephew a Dissenter, and 
said as much ; while Flushington, though he saw the 
misunderstanding, was far too shy^ and too miserable to 
explain it. 

The cousins by^ this time were clustered together, 
whispering and laughing over little private jokes, and 
he, after the manner of sensitive men, of course con- 


144 


AN UNDERGRADUATE\S AUNT. 


eluded they were laughing at and perhaps on this 
occasion he was not mistaken. 

He stood by the fireplace, growing hotter and hotter 
every second, inwardly cursing his wdiole race, and 
wishing that his father had been a foundling. What 
would he have to do next ? take all his people out for a 
walk. He trembled at the idea. He would have to 
pass through the court with them, under the eyes of 
the men who were loitering about the grass plots before 
going down to the boats ; through the open window lie 
could hear their voices, and the clash they made as they 
fenced with walking-sticks. 

As he stood there, dumb and miserable, he heard 
another tap at his door — a feeble one this time. 

Why,” cried his aunt, “ that must be poor old 
Sophy at last — you may not remember old Sophy, 
Frankie ; you w^ere quite a baby when she came out to 
us ; but she remembers you, and begged so hard to be 
allowed to come and see you. Don’t keep her standing 
outside. Come in, Sophy ; it’s quite right ; Master 
Frankie is here ! ” 

And at this a very old person in a black bonnet came 
in, and was overcome by emotion at the first sight of 
Flushington. “ To think,” she quavered, ‘‘ to think as 
my dim old eyes should live to see tlie child Fve dandled 
times and again on my lap growed out into a college 
gentleman!” Whereupon she hugged Flushington re- 
spectfully, and wept copiously upon his shoulder, wdiich 
made him almost cataleptic. 

But as she grew calmer, she became more critical, 
even confessing a certain feeling of disappointment with 
Flushington. He had not filled out, she declared, so 


AI^ UNBEROBADUAm^S AUNT. 


145 


fine as he’d promised to fill out. And when she began 
to drag up reminiscences of his early youth, asking if 
lie recollected how he wouldn’t be washed unless 
they first put his little spotted wooden horse on the 
washstand, and how they had to bribe hini with a 
pennj^ trumpet to take his castor-oil, and how fond he 
used to be of senna-tea, Flushington felt that he must 
seem more of a fool than ever ! 

This was quite bad enough, but at last the girls began 
to be restless, and there being no efforts made to enter- 
tain them, amused themselves by exploring their cousin’s 
rooms and exclaiming at everything they saw; admiring 
his pipes and his umbrella rack, his buffalo horns and 
his tin heraldic shields, and his quaint wooden kettle- 
holder, until they came round to his French novel, and, 
as they were healthy-minded Colonial girls, with a 
limited knowledge of Parisian literature, they pounced 
upon it directly, and wanted Flushington to tell them 
what it was all about. 

“Yes, Frankie, tell us,” the aunt struck in, as he fal- 
tered ; “ Pm always glad for the girls to know of any 
nice foreign works, as they’ve really improved wonder- 
fully in their French lately.” 

There are French novels, no doubt, of wdiich it would 
be practicable and pleasant to give a general idea to 
one’s aunt, but they are not numerous, and this particu- 
lar book did not chance to be one of them. 

So this demand threw him into a cold perspiration ; 
he had not presence of mind to prevaricate or invent, 
and he would probably have committed himself in some 
deplorable manner, if just at that moment there had 
not happened to come another tap at the door, or 
10 


146 


AN UNDERGRADUATE'S AUNT. 


rather a sharp rattle, as if with the end of something 
wooden. 

Flushington’s head swam with horror at this third 
interruption ; he was prepared for anything now — 
another kunt, say from Greenland’s icy mountains, or 
India’s coral strand, with a fresh relay of female cousins, 
or a staff of aged family retainers who had washed him 
in early infancy : he sat there cowering. 

But Avhen the door opened, a tall, fair, good-looking 
young fellow in a boating-straw and flannels, and carry- 
ing a tennis racket, burst impulsively in. “ Oh, I say,” 
he began, ^‘you don’t happen to have heard or seen 
anything of — oh, beg pardon, didn’t see, you know,” he 
added, as he noticed the extraordinary fact that Flush- 
ington had people up. 

“Oh— er — let me introduce you,” said Flushington, 
wdth a vague notion that this was the right thing to do ; 
“ Mr. Lushington — Mrs. (no, I don’t know her name) — 
my aunt . . . my cousins ! ” 

The young man, wdio had just been about to retire, 
bowed and stared with sudden surprise. “ Do you 
know,” he said slowly, in an undertone to the other, “ do 
you know that I can’t help fancying there’s some mis- 
take — are you sure that’s not 7ny aunt you’ve got hold 
of there ? ” 

“ Oh,” whispered Flushington, catching at this unex- 
pected hope, “ do you really think so ? She seems so 
certain she belongs to me ! ” 

“ Well,” said the new-comer, “ I only know I have an 
aunt and cousins I’ve never seen who were coming up 
some time this week — do these ladies happen to come 
from the Colonies, by the way ? ” 


AN UNBERGRADUATE^S AUNT. 


147 


“Yes, 3^es!” cried Flushington, eagerly; “it’s all 
right, they belong to you ; and, I say, do take them away ; 

I can’t bear it any longer ! ” 

“ Now, now, what’s this whispering, Frankie ? ” cried 
the aunt ; “ not very polite, I must say ! ” 

“ He says,” explained Flushington, “ he says it’s all a 
mistake, and — and you’re not my aunt at all ! ” 

“ Oh, indeed, does he ? ” she replied, drawing herself 
together with dignity ; “ and may I ask who is this gen- 
tleman who knows so much about our family — I didn’t 
catch the name ? ” 

“ My name is Lushington — Frank Lushington,” he 
said. ^ 

“ Then — who are you f ” she demanded, turning upon 
the unfortunate owner of the rooms ; “ answer me, I in- 
sist upon it ! ” 

“ Me ? ” he stammered, “ Fm Francis Flushington. I 
— I'm very sorry — but I can't help it ! ” 

“ Why — why — then you’re no nephew of mine.^ sir ! ” 
cried the aunt. 

“ Thank you very mucli,” said Flushington, with posi- 
tive gratitude. 

“ But,” she said, “ I 'want to know why I have been 
allowed to deceive myself in this way. Perhaps, sir, 
you will kindly explain ? ” 

“ What’s the good of asking me f ” protested Flush- 
ington ; “ I haven’t an idea why ! ” 

“ I think I see,” put in her genuine nephew ; “ you 
see, there isn’t mucli light on the staircase outside, and 
you must have taken the ‘ Flushington ’ over his oak to 
be ‘ F. Lushington,’ and gone straight in, you know. 
They told me at the lodge that some ladies had been 


148 


Alf UNDERGRADUATE'S AUNT. 


Risking for me, and so when I didn’t find you in my 
rooms, I thought I’d look in here on the chance — and 
here you all are, eh ? ” 

But the aunt was annoj^ed to find that she had been 
pouring out all her pent-up affection over a perfect 
stranger, and had eaten his lunch into the bargain. She 
almost feared she had put herself in a slightly ridiculous 
position, and this, of course, made her feel very angry 
with Flushington. 

Yes, yes, yes !” she said, excitedly, “that’s all very 
well ; but why did he deliberately encourage me in my 
mistake ? ” 

“ How was I to know it was a mistake ? ” pleaded 
Flushington. “ x ou told me you were my aunt from 
Australia; for all I know Australia may be overrun 
with my aunts. I supposed you knew best.” 

“ But you asked affectionately after Samuel,” she per- 
sisted ; “ you must have had some object in humoring 
my mistake.” 

“ You told me to ask after him, and I did,” said 
Flushington ; “ what else could I do ? ” 

“ Ho, sir,” she said, rising in her wrath ; “ it was a 
most ungentlemanly and heartless practical joke on your 
part, and — and I shall not listen to further excuses.” 

“ Oh, good gracious ! ” Flushington almost whimpered ; 
“ a practical joke ! me^ oh, it really is too bad ! ” 

“ My dear aunt,” Lushington assured her, “ he’s 
quite incapable of such a thing ; it’s a mistake on both 
sides; he wouldn’t wish to intercept another fellow’s 
aunt.” 

“ I wouldn’t do such a thing for worlds ! ” protested 
Flushington, sincerely enough ; he would not have 


AN UNDERGRADUATE'S AUNT. 149 

robbed a fellow creature of a single relation of the re- 
motest degree ; and as for carrying off an aunt and a 
complete set of female cousins, he would have blushed 
(and, in fact, did blush) at the bare suspicion. 

The cousins themselves had been laughing and whis^ 
pering together all this time, regarding their new re- 
lation with shy admiration, very different from the 
manner in which they had looked at poor Flushington ; 
the old nurse, too, was overjoyed at the exchange, and 
now declared that from tlie minute she set eyes on 
Flushington, she had felt something inside tell her that 
her Master Frank would never have turned out so un- 
dersized as him ! 

‘‘Well,” said the aunt, mollified at last, “youmus 
forgive us for having disturbed you like this, itr. a — 
Flushington ” (the unfortunate man murmured that he 
did not mind it now) \ “and now, Frank, my boy, 1 
should like the girls to see yoitr rooms. ” 

“ Come along then,” said he. “ Will you let me give 
you something to eat? — Pll run down and see what they 
can let me have ; and perhaps you’ll kindly help me to 
lay the cloth ; ,/ never can lay the thing straight myself, 
and my old bedmaker’s out of the way as usual.” 

The girls. looked dubiously at one another — they were 
frightfully hungry still ; at last the eldest, out of pure 
consideration for Flushington’s feelings, said, “ Thank 
you very much. Cousin Frank — but your friend has 
kindly given us some lunch already.” 

“ Oh ! ” he said, “ has he though ? That’s really un- 
commonly good of you, old chap.” 

But Flushington’s modesty did not allow him to ac- 
cept undeserved gratitude. “I say,” he whispered. 


150 


AJSr UNDEBGRADUATE'S AUNT. 


taking the other aside, “I gave them what I conld, but 
I’m afraid it — it wasn’t much of a lunch.” 

Lushington made a mental note that he would repeat 
his invitation when he had got his cousins outside. 
‘^Well, look here,” he said, ‘‘will you come and help 
me to row the ladies up to Byron’s Pool— say in an 
hour from this — and we’ll all come back and have a 
little dinner in my rooms, eh ? ” 

“Yes, Mr. Flushington, do — do come,” the girls all 
entreated him' “ just to show you forgive us for taking 
possession of you like this.” 

But Flushington wriggled out of it somehow. He 
couldn’t come, he said uncomfortably ; he had an en- 
gagement. He had nothing of the kind, but he felt 
that he had had quite enough female society for one 
day. 

They did not press him, and he was heartily glad 
when the last of his temporary relations had tiled out of 
his little room, leaving him reminiscences of a terrible 
half-hour, which caused him to be extremely careful 
for months after not to lunch without ascertaining pre- 
viously that his outer door was securely sported. But 
never again did a solitary hungry aunt invade his 
solitude. 


THE SIREN. 


Long, long ago, a siren lived all alone upon a rocky 
little island far out in the Southern Ocean. She may 
have been the youngest and most beautiful of the 
original three sirens, driven by her sisters’ jealous}^, or 
her own weariness of their society, to seek this distant 
home ; or she may have lived there in solitude from the 
beginning. 

But she was ngt unhappy ; all she cared about was 
the admiration and worship of mortal men, and these 
were hei’s whenever she wished, for she had only to 
sing, and her exquisite voice would float away over the 
waters, until it reached some passing vessel, and then 
every one that heard was seized instantly with the irj*e- 
sistible longing to hasten to her isle and throw himself 
adoringly at her feet. 

One day as she sat upon a low headland looking 
earnestly out over the sparkling blue-green water before 
her, and hoping to discover the peak of some far-off 
sail on the hazy sea-line, she was startled by a sound 
she had never heard before — the grating of a boat’s 
keel on the pebbles in the little creek at her side. 

She had been too much absorbed in watching for 
distant ships to notice that a small bark had been glid- 
ing round the other side of her island, but now, as she 
glanced round, she saw that the stranger who had 


162 


TEE SIRBE. 


guided it was already jumping ashore and securing his 
boat. 

Evidently she had not attracted him there, for she 
had been too indolent to sing of late, and he did not 
seem even to have seen her, or to have landed from any 
otlier motive than curiosity. 

He was quite young, gallant-looking, and sunburnt, 
wdth brown hair curling over his forehead, an open face 
and honest gray eyes. And as she looked at him, the 
fancy came to her that she would like to question him 
and hear his voice ; she would hnd out, if she could, 
what manner of beings these mortals were over whom 
she possessed so strange a power. 

Never before had such a thouo;ht entered her mind, 
notwithstanding that she had seen many mortals of 
every age and rank, from captain to the lowest gallej' 
slave ; but then she had only seen them under the in- 
fluence of her magical voice, when they were strucrt 
dumb and motionless, after which — except as proofs oV 
her power — they did not interest her. 

But this sti'anger was still free — so long as she did 
not choose to enslave him ; and for some reason she did 
not choose to do so just yet. 

As he turned toward her, she beckoned to him im- 
periously, and he saw the slender graceful figure above 
for the first time— the fairest maiden his eyes had ever 
beheld, with an unearthly beauty in her wonderful 
dark blue eyes, and hair of the sunniest gold — he stood 
gazing at her in motionless uncertainty, for he thought 
he must be cheated by a vision. 

He came nearer, and, obeying a careless motion of 
her hand, threw himself down on a broad shelf of rock 


THE SIREN. 


153 


a little below the spot where she was seated ; still 
he did not dare to speak lest the vision should pass 
awaj. 

She looked at him for some time with an innocent, 
almost childish, curiosity shining under her long lashes. 
At last she gave a low little laugh : ‘‘ Are you afraid 
of me ? ” she asked ; why don’t you speak ? but per- 
haps,” she added to herself, “ mortals cannot speak.” 

“I was silent,” he said, ^Mest by speaking I should 
anger you — for surely you must be some goddess or sea- 
n^nnph ? ” 

“ Ah, you can speak ! ” she cried. ISTo, I am no 
goddess or nymph, and you wdll not anger me — if only 
you will tell me roany things I want to know ! ” 

And she began to ask him all the questions she could 
think of : first about the great world in which men lived, 
and then about himself, for she was very curious, in a 
charmingly wilful and capricious fashion of her own. 

He answered frankly and simply, but it seemed as if 
some influence were upon him which kept him from 
being dazzled and overcome by her loveliness, for he 
gave no sign as yet of yielding to the glamour she cast 
upon all other men, nor did his eyes gleam with the 
despairing adoration the siren knew so well. 

She was quick to perceive this, and it piqued her. 
She paid less and less attention to the answers he gave 
her, and ceased at last to question him further. 

Presently she said, with a strange smile that showed 
her cruel little teeth gleaming between her scarlet lips, 
“ Why don’t you ask me who I am, and what I am 
doing here alone ? do not you care to know ? ” 

“ If you will deign to tell me,” he said. 


154 


THE SIREK 


‘‘ Then I will tell jon,” she said ; “ I am a siren — are 
you not afraid nov) f ” 

“ Why should I be afraid ? ” he asked, for the name 
had no meaning in his ears. 

She w^as disappointed ; it was only her voice — nothing 
else, then — that deprived men of their senses ; perhaps 
this youth was proof even against that ; she longed to 
try, and yet she hesitated still. 

“Then you have never heard of me,” she said; “you 
don’t know why I sit and watch for the great gilded 
ships you mortals build for yourselves ? ” 

“For your pleasure, I suppose,” he answered. “I 
have watched them myself many a time ; they are grand 
as they sweep by, with their sharp brazen beaks cleaving 
the frothing w^ater, and their painted sails curving out 
firm against the sky. It is good to hear the measured 
thud of the great oars and the cheerful cries of the 
sailors as they clamber about the cordage.” 

She laughed disdainfully. “ And you think I care 
for all that!” she cried. “Where is the pleasure of 
looking idly on and admiring ? — that is for them, not for 
me. As these galleys of yours pass, I sing — and when 
the sailors hear, they must come to me. Man after man 
leaps eagerly into the sea, and makes for the shore — until 
at last the oars grind and lock together, and the great 
ship drifts helplessly on, empty and aimless. I like 
that.” 

“ But the men ? ” he asked, with an uneasy wonder at 
her words. 

“ Oh, they I’each the shore — some of them, and then 
they lie at my feet, just as you are lying now, and I sing 
on, and as they listen they lose all power or wish to 


THE SIREN. 


155 


move, nor have I ever heard them speak as you speak; 
they only lie there upon the sand or rock, and gaze at 
me always, and soon their cheeks grow hollower and 
hollo wer, and their eyes brighter and brighter — and it 
is I who make them so ! ” 

“ But 1 see them not,” said the youth, divided between 
hope and fear ; the beach is bare ; where, then, are all 
those gone who have lain here ? ” 

I cannot say,” she replied carelessly ; they are not 
here for long ; when the sea comes up it carries them 
away.” 

And you do not care ! ” he cried, struck with horror 
at the absolute indifference in her face ; “ you do not 
even try to keep them here ? ” 

\Yhy should I care ? ” said the siren lightly ; “ I do 
not want them. More will always come when I wish. 
And it is so wearisome always to see the same faces, 
that I am glad when they go.” 

“ I will not believe it, siren,” groaned the young man, 
turning from her in bitter anguish ; oh, you cannot be 
cruel ! ” 

'No, I am not cruel,” she said in surprise. “ And 
why will you not believe me ? It is true ! ” 

Listen to me,” he said passionately : do you know 
how bitter it is to die, — to leave the sunlight and the 
warm air, the fair land and the changing sea ?” 

“ How can I know ? ” said the siren. “ 1 shall never 
die — unless — something happens which will never be! ” 
You will live on, to bring this bitterness upon 
others for your sport. We mortals lead but short lives, 
and life, even spent in sorrow, is sweet to most of us ; 
a'Ad our deaths when they come bring mourning to those 


156 


THE SIREN. 


who cared for iis and are left behind. Bnt yon lure 
men to this isle, and look on unmoved as they are borne 
away ! ” 

“x^o, you are wrong,” she said ; “lam not cruel, as 
you think me ; when they are no longer pleasant to look 
at, I leave them. I never see them borne away. I 
never thought what became of them at last. Where are 
they now ? ” 

“ They are dead, siren,” he said, sadly, “ drowned. 
Life was dear to them ; far away there were women and 
children to whom they had hoped to return, and who 
have waited and wept for them since. Happy years 
were before them, and to some at least — but for you — a 
restful and honored old age. But you called them, 
and as they lay here the greedy waves came up, dashed 
them from these rocks and sucked them, blinded, suffo- 
cating, battling painfully for breath and life, down into 
the dark green depths. And now their bones lie tang- 
led in the sea-weed, but they themselves are wandering, 
sad, restless shades, in the shadowy world below, where 
is no sun, no happiness, no hope — but only sighing ever- 
more, and the memory of the past ! ” 

She listened with drooping lids, and her chin resting 
upon her soft palm ; at last she said with a slight quiver 
in her voice, “ I did not know — I did not mean them to 
die. And what can I do ? I cannot keep back the 
sea.” 

“ You can let them sail by unharmed,” he said. 

“ I cannot ! ” she cried. “ Of what use is my power 
to me if 1 may not exercise it ? Why do you tell me 
of men’s sufferings — what are they to me ? ” 

“ They give you their lives,” he said ; “ you fill them 


THE SIREN. 


157 


with a hopeless love and they die for it in misery^ — yet 
you cannot even pity them ! ” 

‘‘ Is it love that brings them here ? ” she said eagerly. 
“What is this that is called love? For I have always 
known that if I ever love — but then only — I must die, 
though what love may he 1 know not. Tell me, so that 
I may avoid it ! ” 

“You need not fear, siren,” he feaid, “for, if death is 
only to come to you through love, you will never die ! ” 
“ Still, I want to know,” she insisted ; “ tell me ! ” 

“ If a stranger were to come some day to this isle, 
and when his eyes meet yours, you feel your indiffer- 
ence leaving you, so that you have no heart to see him 
lie ignobly at your feet, and cannot leave him to perish 
miserably in the cold waters ; if you desire to keep him 
by your side — not as your slave and victim, but as your 
companion, your equal, for evermore — that will be 
love 1 ” 

“ If that is love,” she cried joyously, “ I shall indeed 
never die! But that is not bowmen love mef^^ she 
added. 

“ hlo,” he said ; “ their love for you must be some 
strange and enslaving passion, since they will submit to 
death if only they may hear your voice. That is not 
true love, but a fatal madness.” 

“ But if mortals feel love for one another,” she asked, 
“ they must die, must they not ? ” 

“ The love of a man for a maiden who is gentle and 
good does not kill — even when it is most hopeless,” he 
said; “and where she feels it in return, it is well for 
both, for their lives will flow on together in peace and 
happiness.” 


158 


THE SIEEN. 


He liad spoken softly, with a far away look in liis 
eyes that did not escape the siren. 

“And you love one of your mortal maidens like 
that ? ” she asked. “ Is she more beautiful than I am ? ” 

“ She is mortal,” he said, “ but she is fair and gra- 
cious, my maiden ; and it is she who has my love, and 
will have it while I live.” 

“ And yet,” she said, with a mocking smile, “ I could 
make you forget her.” 

Her childlike waywardness had left her as she spoke 
the words, and a dangerous fire was shining in her deep 
eyes. 

“ Hever ! ” he cried ; “ even you cannot make me 
false to my love ! And yet,” he added quickly, “ I dare 
not challenge you, enchantress that you are ; what is my 
will against your powder ? ” 

“You do not love me yet,” she said; “you have 
called me cruel, and reproached me ; you have dared to 
tell me of a maiden compared with whom I am nothing ! 
You shall be punished. I will have you for my own, 
like the others ! ” 

“ Siren,” he pleaded, seizing one of her hands as it lay 
close to him on the hot gray rock, “ take my life if you 
will — hut do not drive away the memory of my love ; 
let me die, if I must die, faithful to her ; for what am I, 
or what is my love, to you ? ” 

“Hothing,” she said scornfully, and yet with some- 
thing of a caress in her tone, ‘‘yet I want you; you shall 
lie here, and hold my hand, and look into my eyes, and 
forget all else but me.” 

“ Let me go,” he cried, rising, and turning back to re- 
gain his bark ; “ I choose life while 1 may ! ” 


THE SIREN. 


159 


She laughed. Yon have no choice,” she said ; “ you 
are mine ! ” she seemed to have grown still more radiantly, 
dazzlingly fair, and presently, as the stranger made his 
way to the creek where his boat was lying, she broke 
into the low soft chant whose subtle witchery no mortals 
had ever resisted as yet. 

He started as he heard her, but still he went on over 
the rocks a little longer, until at last he stopped with a 
groan, and turned slowly back ; his love across the sea 
was fading fast from his memory ; he felt no desire to 
escape any longer ; he was even eager at last to be back 
on the ledge at her feet and listen to her for ever. 

He reached it and sank down with a sigh, and a 
drowsy delicious languor stole over him, taking away all 
power to stir or speak. 

Her song was triumphant and mocking, and yet 
strangely tender at times, thrilling him as he heard it, 
but her eyes only rested now and then, and always in- 
diiferently, upon his upturned face. 

He wished for nothing better now than to lie there, 
following the flashing of her supple hands upon the 
harp-strings and watching every change of her fair face. 
What though the waves might rise round him and sweep 
him away out of sight, and drown her voice with the 
roar and swirl of waters ? it would not be just yet. 

And the siren sang on ; at first with a cruel pride at 
finding her power supreme, and this youth, for all his 
fidelity, no wiser than the rest ; he would waste there 
with yearning, hopeless passion, till the sight of him 
would weary her, and she would leave him to drift away 
and drown forgotten. 

Yet she did not despise him as she had despised all 


160 


TEE SIREN. 


the others ; in her fancy his eyes bore a sad reproach, 
and she could look at him no longer with indifference. 

Meanwhile the waves came rolling in fast, till they 
licked the foot of the rock, and as the foam creamed 
over the shingle, the siren found herself thinking of the 
fate which was before him, and, as she thought, her 
heart was wrung with a new strange pity. 

She did not want him to be drowned ; she would 
like him there always at her feet, with that rapt devo- 
tion upon his face ; she almost longed to hear his voice 
again — but that could never be ! 

And the sun went down, and the crimson flush in the 
sky and on the sea faded out, the sea grew gray and 
crested with the white billows, which came racing in and 
broke upon the shore, roaring sullenly and raking back 
the pebbles with a sharp rattle at eacli recoil. The siren 
could sing no longer ; her voice died away, and she gazed 
on the troubled sea with a wistful sadness in her great eyes. 

At last a wave larger than the others struck the face 
of the low cliff with a shock tliat seemed to leave it 
trembling, and sent the cold salt spray dashing up into 
the siren’s face. 

She sprang forward to the edge and looked over, with 
a sudden terror lest the ledge below should be bare— but 
her victim lay there still, bound fast by her spell, and 
careless of the death that was advancing upon him. 

Then she knew for the flrst time that she could not 
give him up to the sea, and she leaned down to him and 
laid one small white hand upon his shoulder. “ The 
next wave will carry you away,” she cried, trembling ; 
“ there is still time ; save yourself, for I cannot let you 
die ! ” 


THE SIREN. 


161 


But he gave no sign of having heard her, but lay there 
motionless, and the wind wailed past them and the sea 
grew wilder and louder. 

She remembered now that no efforts of his own could 
sav^e him — he was doomed, and she was the cause of it, 
and she hid her face in her slender hands, weeping for 
the first time in her life. 

The words he had spoken in answer to her questions 
about love came back to her : “It was true, then,” she 
said to herself ; “ it is love that 1 feel for him. But I 
cannot love — I must not love him — for if I do, my power 
is gone, and I must throw myself into the sea ! ” 

So she hardened her heart once more, and turned 
away, for she feared to die ; but again the ground shook 
beneath hei', and the spray rose high into the air, and 
then she could bear it no more — whatever it cost her, 
she must save him — for if he died, what good would her 
life be to her ? 

“ If one of us must die,” she said, “/will be that one. 
I am cruel and wicked, as he told me ; I have done harm 
enough ! ” and bending down, she wound her arms 
round his unconscious body and drew him gently up to 
thedevel above. 

“ You are safe now,” she whispered ; “you shall not 
be drowned — for I love you. Sail back to your maiden 
on the mainland, and be happy ; but do not hate me for 
the evil I have wrought, for suffering and death have 
come to me in my turn ! ” 

The lethargy into which he had fallen left him under 
her clinging embrace, and the sad, tender words fell 
almost unconsciously upon his dulled ears; he felt the 

touch of her hair as it brushed his cheek, and his fore- 
11 


162 


THE SIREN. 


head was still warm with the kiss she had pressed there 
as he opened his eyes — only to find himself alone. 

For the fate which the siren had dreaded had come 
upon her at last ; she had loved, and she had paid the 
penalty for loving, and never more would her wild, sweet 
voice beguile mortals to their doom. 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 


I. 

Unless I am very much mistaken, until the time when 
I was subjected to the strange and exceptional experience 
which I now propose to relate, I had never been brought 
into close contact with anything of a supernatural de- 
scription. At least if I ever was, the circumstance can 
have made no lasting impression upon me, as I am quite 
unable to recall it. But in the Curse of the Cata- 
falques ” I was confronted with a horror so weird and 
so altogether unusual, that I doubt whether I shall ever 
succeed in wholly forgetting it — and I know that I have 
never felt really well since. 

It is difficult for me to tell my story intelligibly with,^,. 
out some account of my previous history by w^y of in- 
troduction, although I will try to make it as little diffuse 
as I may. 

I had not been a success at home ; I was an orphan, 
and, in my anxiety to please a wealthy uncle upon whom 
I was practically dependent, I had consented to submit 
myself to a series of competitive examinations for quite 
a variety of professions, but in each successive instance 
I achieved the same disheartening failure. Some expla- 
nation of this may, no doubt, be found in the fact that, 
with a fatal want of forethought, I had entirely omitted 


104 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

to prepare myself by any particular course of study — 
which, as I discovered too late, is almost indispensable 
to success in these intellectual contests. 

My uncle himself took this view, and conceiving — not 
without discernment — that I was by no means likely to 
retrieve myself by any severe degree of application in 
the future, he 'had me shipped out to Australia, where 
he had correspondents and friends who would put things 
in my way. 

They did put several things in my way — and, as might 
have been expected, I came to grief over every one of 
them, until at length, having given a fair trial to each 
opening that had been provided for me, I began to per- 
ceive that my uncle had made a grave mistake in believ- 
ing me suited for a colonial career. 

I resolved to return home and convince him of his 
error, and give him one more opportunity of repairing 
it ; he had failed to discover the best means of utilising 
my undoubted ability, yet I would not reproach him 
(nor do I reproach him even now), for I too have felt 
the difficulty. 

In pursuance of my resolution, I booked my passage 
home by one of the Orient liners from Melbourne to 
London. About an hour before the ship was to leave 
her moorings, I went on board and made my way at 
once to the state-room which I was to share with a fel- 
low-passenger, whose acquaintance I then made for the 
lirst time. 

He was a tall cadaverous young man of about my own 
age, and my first view of him was not encouraging, for 
when I came in, I found him rolling restlessly on the 
cabin fioor, and uttering hollow groans. 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 1G5 

“This -will never do,” I said, after I had introduced 
myself ; “ if you’re like this now, my good sir, what will 
you be when we’re fairly out at sea ? You must hus- 
band your resources for that. And why trouble to roll ? 
The ship will do all that for you, if you will only have 
patience.” 

He explained, somewhat brusquely, that he was suf- 
fering from mental agony, not sea-sickness ; and by a 
little pertinacious questioning (for I would not allow my- 
self to be rebuffed) I was soon in possession of the secret 
which was troubling my companion, whose name, as I 
also learned, was Augustus McFadden. 

It seemed that his parents had emigrated before his 
birth, and he had lived all his life in the Colony, where 
he was contented and fairly prosperous — when an eccen- 
tric old aunt of his over in England happened to die. 

She left McFadden himself nothing, having given by 
her will the bulk of her property to the only daughter 
of a baronet of ancient family, in whom she took a strong 
interest. But the will was not without its effect upon 
her existence, for it expressly mentioned the desire of 
the testatrix that the baronet should receive her nephew 
Augustus if he presented himself within a certain time, 
and should afford him every facility for proving his fit- 
ness for acceptance as a suitor. The alliance was merely 
recommended, however, not enjoined, and the gift was 
unfettered by any conditions. 

“I heard of it first,” said McFadden, “from Chlo- 
rine’s father (Chlorine is her name, you know). Sir Paul 
Catafalque wrote to me, informing me of the mention 
of my name in my aunt’s will, enclosing his daughter’s 
photograph, and formally inviting me to come over and 


166 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

do rtij best, if luj affections were not pre-engaged, to 
cany out the last wishes of the departed. He added 
that I might expect to receive shortly a packet from my 
aunt’s executors which would explain matters fully, 
and in which I should find certain directions for my 
guidance. The photograph decided me ; it was so em- 
inently pleasing that I felt at once that my poor aunt’s 
wishes must be sacred to me. I could not wait for the 
packet to arrive, and so I wrote at once to Sir Paul 
accepting the invitation. Yes,” he added, with another 
of the hollow groans, miserable wretch that I am, I 
pledged my honor to present myself as a suitor, and now 
— ^now — here I am, actually embarked upon the desperate 
errand ! ” 

He seemed inclined to begin to roll again here, but I 
stopped him. ‘‘Keally,” I said, “I think in your place, 
with an excellent chance — for I presume the lady’s heart 
is also disengaged — with an excellent chance of winning 
a baronet’s daughter with a considerable fortune and a 
pleasing appearance, I should bear up better.” 

‘‘Yon think so,” he rejoined, “but you do not know 
all ! The very day after I had despatched my fatal 
letter, my aunt’s explanatory packet arrived. I tell you 
that when I read the hideous revelations it contained, 
and knew to what horrors I had innocently pledged my- 
self, my hair stood on end, and I believe it has remained 
on end ever since. But it was too late. Here I am, 
engaged to carry out a task from which my inmost soul 
recoils. Ah, if I dared but retract ! ” 

“ Then why in the name of common sense, donH 
you retract ? ” I asked. “ Write and say that you much 
regret that a previous engagement, which you had im- 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 167 

fortunately overlooked, deprives you of the pleasure of 
accepting.” 

“ Impossible,” he said ; it would be agony to me 
to feel that I had incurred Chlorine’s contempt, even 
though I only know her through a photograph at pres- 
ent. If I were to back out of it now, she would have 
reason to despise me, w^ould she not ? ” 

Perhaps she would,” I said. 

“You see my dilemma — I cannot retract; on the 
other hand, I dare not go on. The only thing, as I 
have thought lately, which could save me and my 
honor at the same time would be my death on the voy- 
age out, for then my cowardice would remain undis- 
covered.” 

“ Well,” I said, “you can die on the voyage out if you 
w^ant to— there need be no difficulty about that. All 
you have to do is just to slip over the side some dark 
night when no one is looking. I tell you what,” I 
added (for somehow I began to feel a friendly interest 
in this poor slack-baked creature), “ if you don’t find 
your nerves equal to it when it comes to the point, I 
don’t mind giving you a leg over myself.” 

“ I never intended to go as far as that,” he said, rather 
pettishly, and without any sign of gratitude for my 
offer ; “ I don’t care about actually dying, if she could 
only be made to believe I had died that would be quite 
enough for me. I could live on here, happy in the 
thought that I was saved from her scorn. But how can 
she be made to believe it ? — that’s the point.” 

“ Precisely,” I said. “ You can hardly write yourself 
and inform her that you died on the voyage. You might 
do this, though : sail to England as you propose, and go 


168 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 


to see her under another name, and break the sad in- 
telligence to her.” 

‘‘ Why, to be sure, I might do that ! ” he said, with 
some animation ; “ 1 should certainly not be recognised 
— she can have no photograph of me, for I have never 
been photographed. And yet — no,” he added, with a 
shudder, “it is useless. I can’t do it ; I dare not trust 
myself under that roof ! I must find some other way. 
You have given me an idea. Listen,” he said, after a 
short pause : “ you seem to take an interest in me ; you 
are going to London ; the Catafalques live there, or near 
it, at some place called Parson’s Green. Can I ask a 
great favor of you — would you very much mind seeking 
them out yourself as a fellow- voyager of mine ? I could 
not expect you to tell a positive untruth on my account 
— but if, in the course of an interview with Chlorine, 
you could contrive to convey the impression that I died 
on my way to her side, you would be doing me a service 
I can never repay ! ” 

“ I should very much prefer to do you a service that 
you could repay,” was my very natural rejoinder. 

“ She will not require strict proof,” he continued 
eagerly ; “ I could give you enough papers and things 
to convince her that you came from me. Say you will 
do me this kindness ! ” 

I hesitated for some time longer, not so much, per- 
haps, from scruples of a conscientious kind as from a dis- 
inclination to undertake a troublesome commission for 
an entire stranger — gratuitously. But McFadden pressed 
me hard, and at length he made an appeal to springs 
in my nature which are never touched in vain, and I 
yielded. 


160 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

When we had settled the question in its financial 
aspect, I said to McFadden, The only thing now is — 
how would you prefer to pass away ? Shall I make you 
fall over and be devoured by a shark ? That would be 
a picturesque end — and I could do myself justice over 
. the shark ? I should make the young lady weep con- 
siderably.” 

‘‘ That won’t do at all ! ” he said irritably ; I can see 
from her face that Chlorine is a girl of a delicate sensi- 
bility, and would be disgusted by the idea of any suitor 
of hers spending his last cohesive moments inside such 
a beastly repulsive thing as a shark. 1 don’t want to be 
associated in her mind with anything so unpleasant. 
No, sir ; I will die — if you will oblige me by remember- 
ing it — of a low fever, of a non-inf ectio us tj^pe, at sun- 
set, gazing at her portrait with my fading ej^esight and 
gasping her name with my last breath. She will cry 
more over that ! ” 

I might work it up into something effective, cer- 
tainly,” I admitted ; “ and, by the way, if you are going 
to expii’e in my state-room, I ought to know a little 
more about you than I do. There is time still before 
the tender goes; you might do worse than spend it in 
coaching me in youi- life’s history.” 

He gave me a few leading facts, and supplied me 
with several documents for study on the voyage ; he 
even abandoned to me the whole of his travelling ar- 
rangements, which proved far more complete and ser- 
viceable than my own. 

And then the All-ashore” bell rang, and McFadden, 
as he bade me farewell, took from his pocket a bulky 
packet. ‘‘You have saved me,” he said. “Now I can 


170 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

banish every recollection of this miserable episode. 1 
need no longer preserve my poor aunt’s directions ; let 
them go, then.” 

Before I could say anything, he had fastened some- 
thing heavy to the parcel and dropped it through the 
cabin-light into the sea, after which he went ashore, and 
I have never seen nor heard of him since. 

During the voyage I had leisure to think seriously 
over the affair, aiid the more I thought of the task I had 
undertaken, the less I liked it. 

No man with the instincts of a gentleman can feel 
any satisfaction at finding himself on the way to harrow 
up a poor young lady’s feelings by a perfectly ficti- 
tious account of the death of a poor-spirited suitor who 
could selfishly save his reputation at her expense. 

And so strong was my feeling about this from the 
very first, that I doubt whether, if McFadden’s terms 
had been a shade less liberal, I could ever have brought 
myself to consent. 

But it struck me that, under judiciously sympathetic 
treatment, the lady might prove not inconsolable, and 
that I myself might be able to heal the wound I was 
about to infiict. 

I found a subtle pleasure in the thought of this, for, 
unless McFadden had misinformed me. Chlorine’s for- 
tune was considerable, and did not depend upon any. 
marriage she might or might not make. On the other 
hand, I was penniless, and it seemed to me only too 
likely that her parents might seek to found some objec- 
tion to me on that ground. 

I studied the photograph McFadden had left with 
me ; it was that of a pensive but distinctly pretty face, 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 171 

with an absence of firmness in it that betrayed a plastic 
nature. I felt certain that if I only had the recom- 
mendation, as McFadden had, of an aunt’s dying 
wishes, it would not take me long to effect a complete j 
conquest. 

And then, as naturally as possible, came the thought 
— why should not I procure myself the advantages of 
this recommendation ? Nothing could be easier ; I had 
merely to present myself as Augustus McFadden, who 
was hitherto a mere name to them ; the information I 
already possessed as to his past life would enable me to 
support the character, and as it seemed that the baronet 
lived in great seclusion, I could easily contrive to keep 
out of the way of the few friends and relations I had in 
London until my position was secure. 

What harm would this innocent deception do to any- 
one ? McFadden, even if he ever knew, would have no 
right to complain — he had given up all pretentions him- 
self — and if he was merely anxious to preserve his reputa- 
tion, his wishes would be more than carried out, for I 
flattered myself that whatever ideal Chlorine might 
have formed of her destined suitor, I should come much 
nearer to it than poor McFadden could ever have done. 
No, he would gain, positively gain, by my assumption. 
He could not have counted upon arousing more than a 
mild regret as it was ; now he would he fondly, it might 
be madly, loved. By proxy, it is true, but that was far 
more than he deserved. 

Chlorine was not injured— far from it; she would 
have a suitor to w^elcome, not weep over, and his inere 
surname could make no possible difference to her. And 
lastly, it was a distinct benefit to me^ for with a new 


172 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

name and excellent reputation success would be an ab- 
solute certainty. What wonder, then, that the scheme, 
wliich opened out a far more manly and honorable 
means of obtaining a livelihood than any I had pre- 
viously contemplated, should have grown more ^attrac- 
tively feasible each day, until I resolved at last to cany 
it out ? Let rigid moralists blame me if they will ; 1 
have never pretended to be better than the average run 
of mankind (though I am certainly no worse), and no 
one who really knows what human nature is will re- 
proach me veiy keenly for obeying what was almost an 
instinct. And I may say this, that if ever an unfortu- 
nate man was bitterly punished for a fraud which was 
harmless, if not actually pious, by a visitation of intense 
and protracted terror, that person was I ! 

II. 

After arriving in England, and before presenting 
myself at Parson’s Green in my assumed character I 
took one precaution against any danger there might be 
of riy throwing away my liberty in a fit of youthful im- 
pulsiveness. I went to Somerset House, and carefully 
examined the probate copy of the late Miss Petronia 
McFadden’s last will and testament. 

Nothing could have been more satisfactory ; a sum of 
between forty and fifty thousand pounds was Chlorine’s 
unconditionally, just as McFadden had said. I searched, 
but could find nothing in the will wdiatever to prevent 
her property, under the then existing state of the law, 
from passing under the entire control of a future 
husband. 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 173 

After this, then, I could no longer restrain mj ardour, 
and so, one foggy afternoon about the middle of Decem- 
ber, I found myself driving towards the house in which 
I reckoned upon achieving a comfortable independence. 

Parson’s Green was reached at last ; a small triangular 
open space bordered on two of its sides by mean and 
modern erections, but on the third by some ancient 
mansions, gloomy and neglected-looking indeed, but 
with traces on them still of their former consequence. 

My cab stopped before the gloomiest of them all — a 
square grim house with dull and small-paned windows, 
flanked by two narrow and projecting wings, and built 
of dingy brick, faced with yellow-stone. Some old 
scroll-work railings, with a corroded frame in the middle 
for a long departed oil-lamp, separated the house from 
the road ; inside was a semicircular patch of rank grass, 
and a damp gravel sweep led from the heavy gate to a 
square portico supported by two wasted black wooden 
pillars. 

As I stood there, after pulling the pear-shaped bell- 
handle, and heard the bell tinkling and jangling fret- 
fully within, and as I glanced up at the dull house-front 
looming cheerless out of the fog-laden December twi- 
light, I felt my confidence beginning to abandon me for 
the first time, and I really was almost inclined to give 
the whole thing up and run away. 

Before I could make up my mind, a mouldy and 
melancholy butler had come slowly down the sweep 
and opened the gate — and my opportunity had fled. 
Later I remembered how, as I walked along the gravel, 
a wild and wailing scream pierced the heavy silence — 
it seemed at once a lamentation and a warning. But 


174 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

as the District Railway was quite near, I did not at- 
tach any particular importance to the sound at the 
time. 

I followed the butler through a dank and chilly hall, 
where an antique lamp hung glimmering feebly through 
its panes of dusty stained glass, up a broad carved stair- 
case, and along some tortuous panelled passages, until at 
length I was ushered into a long and rather low recep- 
tion room, scantily furnished with the tarnished mirrors 
and spindle-legged brocaded furniture of a bygone cen- 
tury. 

A tall and meagre old man, with a long white beard, 
and haggard, sunken black eyes, was seated at one side 
of the high chimney-piece, while opposite him sat a little 
limp old lady with a nervous expression, and dressed in 
trailing black robes relieved by a little yellow lace about 
the head and throat. As I saw them, I recognised at 
once that I was in the presence of Sir Paul Catafalque 
and his wife. 

They both rose slowly, and advanced arm-in-arm in 
their oldjfashioned way, and met me with a stately solem- 
nity. “ You are indeed welcome,” they said in faint 
hollow voices. We thank you for this proof of your 
chivalry and devotion. It cannot be but that such 
courage and such self-sacrifice will meet with their 
reward ! ” 

And although I did not quite understand how they 
could have discerned, as yet, that I was chivalrous and 
devoted, I was too glad to have made a good impression 
to do anything but beg them not to mention it. 

And then a slender figure, with a drooping head, a 
wan face, and large sad eyes, came softly down the 


THE UHRSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 175 


dimly-lighted room towards me, and I and mv destined 
bride met for the first time. j 

As I had expected, after she had once anxi ily raised 
her eyes, and allowed them to rest upon r , her face 
was lighted up by an evident relief, as she discovered 
that the fulfilment of my aunt’s wishes would not be so 
distasteful to her, personally, as it might have been. 

For myself, I was upon the whole rather disappointed 
in her ; the portrait had flattered her considerably — the 
real Chlorine was thinner and paler than I had been led 
to anticipate, while there was a settled melancholy in her 
manner which I felt w^ould prevent her from being an 
exhilarating companion. 

And I must say 1 prefer a touch of archness and ani- 
mation in womankind, and, if I had been free to consult 
my own tastes, should have greatly preferred to become 
a member of a more cheerful family. Under the cir- 
cumstances, however, I was not entitled to be too par- 
ticular, and I put up with it. 

From the moment of my arrival I fell easily and 
naturally into the position of an honored guest, who 
might be expected in time to form nearer and dearer 
relations with the family, and certainly I was afforded 
every opportunity of doing so. 

I made no mistakes, for the diligence with which I 
had got up McFadden’s antecedents enabled me to give 
perfectly satisfactory replies tp most of the few allusions 
or questions that were addressed to me, and I drew upon 
my imagination for the rest. 

But those days I spent in the baronet’s family were 
far from lively : the Catafalques went nowhere ; they 
seemed to know nobody ; at least no visitors ever called 


176 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 


or dined there while I was with them, and the time 
dragged slowly on in a terrible monotony in that dim 
tomb of a house, which I was not expected to leave ex- 
cept for very brief periods, for Sir Paul would grow un- 
easy if I walked out alone — even to Putney. 

There was something, indeed, about the attitude of 
both the old people towards myself which I could only 
consider as extremely puzzling. They would follow me 
about with a jealous care, blended with anxious alarm, 
and their faces as they looked at me wore an expression 
of tearful admiration, touched with something of pity, 
as for some youthful martyr ; at times, too, they spoke 
of the gratitude they felt, and professed a determined 
hopefulness as to my ultimate success. 

Now I was well aware that this is not the ordinary 
bearing of the parents of an heiress to a suitor who, 
however deserving in other respects, is both obscure and 
penniless, and the only way in which I could account for 
it was by the supposition that there was some latent de- 
fect in Chlorine’s temper or constitution, which entitled 
the man who won her to commiseration, and which 
would also explain their evident anxiety to get her off 
tlieir hands. 

But although anything of this kind would be, of 
course, a drawback, I felt that forty or fifty thousand 
pounds would be a fair set-off— and I could not expect 
everything. 

When the time came at which I felt that I could safely 
speak to Chloi’ine of what lay nearest my heart, I found 
an unforeseen difficulty in bringing her to confess that 
she reciprocated my passion. 

She seemed to shrink unaccountably from speaking 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 177 

the word which gave me the right to claim her, confess- 
ing that she dreaded it not for her own sake, but for 
mine alone, which struck me as an unpleasantly morbid 
trait in so young a girl. 

Again and again I protested that I was willing to run 
all risks — as I was — and again and again she resisted, 
though always more faintly, until at last my elforts were 
successful, and I forced from her lips the assent which 
was of so much importance to me. 

But it cost her a great effort, and I believe she even 
swooned immediately afterwards ; but this is only con- 
jecture, as I lost no time in seeking Sir Paul and clench- 
ing the matter before Chlorine had time to retract. 

He heard what I had to tell him with a strange light 
of triumph and relief in his weary eyes. “ You have 
made an old man very happy and hopeful,” he said. “ I 
ought, perhaps, even now to deter you, but I am too 
selfish for that. And you are young and brave and 
ardent ; why need we despair ? I suppose,” he added, 
looking keenly at me, “ you would prefer as little delay 
as possible ? ” 

‘‘ I should indeed,” I replied. I was pleased, for I 
had not expected to find him so sensible as that. 

“ Then leave all preliminaries to me ; when the day 
and time have been settled, I will let you know. As 
you are aware it will be necessary to have your signature 
to this document ; and here, my boy, I must in con- 
science warn you solemnly that by signing you make 
your decision irrevocable — irrevoeahle^ you understand ? ” 

When I had heard this, I need scarcely say that I was 
all eagerness to sign ; so great was my haste that I did 
not even try to decipher the somewhat crabbed and an- 
12 


178 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

tiquated writing in which the terms of the agreement 
were set out. 

I was anxious to impress the baronet with a sense of 
mj gentlemanly feeling and the confidence I had in him, 
while I naturally presumed that, since the contract was 
binding upon me, the baronet would, as a man of honor, 
hold it equally conclusive on his own side. 

As 1 look back upon it now, it seems simply extraor- 
dinary that I should have been so easily satisfied, have 
taken so little pains to find out the exact position in 
which I was placing myself ; but, with the ingenuous 
confidence of youth, I fell an easy victim, as I was to 
realise later with terrible enlightenment. 

“ Say nothing of this to Chlorine,” said Sir Paul, as I 
handed him the document signed, until the final ar- 
rangements are made ; it will only distress her unneces- 
sarily.” 

I wondered why at the time, but I promised to obey, 
supposing that he knew best, and for some days after 
that I made no mention to Chlorine of the approaching 
day which was to witness our union. 

As we were continually together, I began to regard 
her with an esteem which I had not thought possible at 
first. Her looks improved considerably under the in- 
fluence of happiness, and I found she could converse 
intelligently enough upon several topics, and did not 
bore me nearly as much as I was fully pre2:)ared for. 

And so the time passed less heavily, until one after- 
noon the baronet took me aside mysteriously. ‘‘ Pre- 
pare yourself, Augustus ” (they had all learned to call 
me Augustus), he said ; “ all is arranged. The event 
upon which our dearest hopes depend is fixed for to- 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 179 

morrow— in the Grey Chamber of course, and at mid- 
night.” 

I thought this a curious time and place for the cere- 
mony, but I had divined his eccentric passion for privacy 
and retirement, and only imagined that he had procured 
some very special form of licence. 

“ But you do not know the Grey Chamber,” he added. 
“ Come with me, and I will show you where it is.” And 
he led me up to the broad staircase, and, stopping at 
the end of a passage, before an immense door covered 
with black baize and studded with brass nails, which 
gave it a hideous resemblance to a gigantic coffin lid, he 
pressed a spring, and it fell slowly back. 

I saw a long dim gallery, whose very existence nothing 
in the external appearance of the mansion had led me 
to suspect ; it led to a heavy oaken door with cumbrous 
plates and fastenings of metal. 

“ To-morrow night is Christmas Eve^ as you are doubt- 
less aware,” he said in a hushed voice. “ At twelve, 
then, you will present yourself at yonder door — the door 
of the Grey Chamber — where you must fulfil the en- 
gagement you have made.” 

I was surprised at his choosing such a place Tor the 
ceremony ; it would have been more cheerful in the 
long drawing room ; but it was evidently a whim of his, 
and I was too happy to think of opposing it. I hast- 
ened at once to Chlorine, with her father’s sanction, and 
told her that the crowning moment of both our lives 
was fixed at last. 

The effect of my announcement was astonishing : 
she fainted, for which I remonstrated with her as soon 
as she came to herself. “ Such extreme sensitiveness. 


180 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 


my love,” I could not help saying, ‘‘may be highly 
creditable to your sense of maidenly propriety, but 
allow me to say that I can scarcely regard it as a com- 
pliment.” 

“Augustus,” she said, “you must not think I doubt 
you ; and yet — and yet — the ordeal will be a severe one 
for you.” 

“ I will steel my nerves,” I said grimly (for I was 
annoyed with her) ; “and, after all. Chlorine, the cere- 
mony is not invariably fatal ; I have heard of the vic- 
tim surviving it — occasionally.” 

“ How brave you are ! ” she said earnestly. “ I will 
imitate you, Augustus ; I too will hope.” 

I really thought her insane, which alarmed me for 
the validity of the marriage. “ Yes, I am weak, foolish, 
I know,” she continued ; “ but oh, I shudder so when I 
think of you, away in that gloomy Grey Chamber, going 
through it all alone ! ” 

This confirmed my worst fears. Ho wonder her 
parents felt grateful to me for relieving them of such a 
responsibility ! “ May I ask where you intend to be at 
the time ? ” I inquired very quietly. 

“ You will not think us unfeeling,” she replied, “but 
dear papa considered that such anxiety as ours would 
be scarcely endurable did we not seek some distrac- 
tion from it ; and so, as a special favor, he has pro- 
cured evening orders for Sir John Soane’s Museum in 
Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where we shall drive immediately 
after dinner.” 

I knew that the proper way to treat the insane was 
by reasoning with them gentH, so as to place their own 
absurdity clearly before them. “ If you are forgetting 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 181 

your anxiety in Sir John Soane’s Museum, while I cool 
my heels in the Grey Chamber,” I said, “ is it probable 
that any clergyman will be induced to perform the mar- 
riage ceremony ? Did you really think two people can 
be united separately ? ” 

was astonished this time. ^‘You are joking!” 
she cried ; you cannot really believe that we are to be 
married in— in the Grey Chamber ? ” 

“ Then will you tell me where we are to be mar- 
ried ? ” I asked. I think I have the right to know — 
it can hardly be at the Museum 1 ” 

She turned upon me with a sudden misgiving ; “ I 
could almost fancy,” she said anxiously, that this is no 
feigned ignorance. Augustus, your aunt sent you a 
message — tell me, have you read it? ” 

J^ow, owing to McFadden’s want of consideration, 
this was my one weak point — I had not read it, and 
thus I felt myself upon delicate ground. The message 
evidently related to business of importance which was 
to be transacted in this Grey Chamber, and as the 
genuine McFadden clearly knew all about it, it would 
have been simply suicidal to confess my own ignorance. 

Why of course, darling, of course,” I said hastily. 

You must think no more of my silly joke ; there is 
something I have to arrange in the Grey Chamber be- 
fore I can call you mine. But, tell me, why does it 
make you so uneasy ? ” I added, thinking it might be 
prudent to find out beforehand what formality was ex- 
pected from me. 

I cannot help it — no, I cannot ! ” she cried, ‘‘ the 
test is so searching — are you sure that you are pre- 
pared at all points ? I overheard my father say that 


182 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

no precaution could safely be neglected. I have such a 
terrible foreboding that, after all, this may come be- 
tween us.” 

It was clear enough to me now ; the baronet was by 
no means so simple and confiding in his choice of a son- 
in-law as I had imagined, and had no intention, after 
all, of accepting me without some inquiry into my past 
life, my habits, and my prospects. 

That he should seek to make this examination more 
impressive by appointing this ridiculous midnight in- 
terview for it, was only what might have been expected 
from an old man of his confirmed eccentricity. 

But I knew I could easily contrive to satisfy the 
baronet, and with the idea of consoling Chlorine, I said 
as much. Why will you persist in treating me like a 
child, Augustus?” she broke out almost petulantly. 
“ They have tried to hide it all from me, but do you 
suppose I do not know that in the Grey Chamber you 
will have to encounter one far more formidable, far 
more difiicult to satisfy, than poor dear papa ? ” 

I see you know more than I — more than I thought 
you did,” I said. “ Let us understand one another. 
Chlorine — tell me exactly how much you know.” 

I have told you all I know,” she said ; “ it is your 
turn to confide in me.” 

“ Not even for your sweet sake, my dearest,” I was 
obliged to say, “ can I break the seal that is set upon my 
tongue. You must not press me. Come, let us talk of 
other things.” 

But I now saw that matters were worse than I had 
thought; instead of the feeble old baronet I should 
have to deal with a stranger, some exacting and officious 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 183 

friend or relation perhaps, or, more probably, a keen 
family solicitor who would put questions I should not 
care about answering, and even be capable of insisting 
upon strict settlements. 

It was that, of course ; they would try to tie my 
hands by a strict settlement, with a brace of cautious 
trustees ; unless I was very careful, all I siiould get by 
my marriage would be a paltry life-interest, contingent 
upon my surviving my wife. 

This revolted me ; it seems, to me that when law 
comes in with its offensively suspicious restraints upon 
the husband and its indelicately premature provisions 
for the offspring, all the poetry of love is gone at once. 
By allowing the wife to receive the income “ for her 
separate use and free from the control of her husband,” 
as the phrase runs, you infallibly brush the bloom from 
tlie peach, and implant tlie ^‘little speck within the 
fruit” which, as Tennyson beautifully says, will widen 
by-and-by and make the music mute. 

This may be overstrained on my part, but it repre- 
sents my#.honest conviction ; I was determined to have 
nothing to do with law. If it was necessary, I felt 
quite sure enough of Chlorine to defy Sir Paul. I 
would refuse to meet a family solicitor anywhere, and I 
intended to say so plainly at the first convenient oppor- 
tunity, 

III. 

The opportunity came after dinner that evennig 
Avhen we were all in the drawing-room. Lady Catafalque 
dozing uneasil}'^ in her arm-chair behind a firescreen, and 
Chlorine, in the further room, playing funereal dirges in 


184 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

the darkness, and pressing the stiff keys of the old piano 
with a languid uncertain touch. 

Drawing a chair up to Sir Paul’s, I began to broach 
the subject calmly and temperately. “I find,” 1 said, 
‘‘ that we have not quite understood one another over 
this affair in the Grey Chamber. When I agreed to an 
appointment there, I thought — well, it doesn’t matter 
what I thought, I was a little too premature. What I 
want to say now is, that while I have no objection to 
you, as Chlorine’s father, asking me any questions (in 
reason) about myself, I feel a delicacy in discussing my 
private affairs with a perfect stranger.” 

His burning eyes looked me through and through ; 
“ I don’t understand,” he said. “ Tell me what you are 
talking about.” 

I began all over again, telling him exactly what I felt 
about solicitors and settlements. ‘‘ Are you well ? ” he 
asked sternly. “What have I ever said about settle- 
ments or solicitors ? ” 

I saw that I was wrong again, and could only stammer 
something to the effect that a remark of Chlorine’s had 
given me this impression. 

“ What she could have said to convey such an idea 
passes my comprehension,” he said gravely ; “ but she 
knows nothing — she’s a mere child. 1 have felt from 
the first, my boy, that your aunt’s intention was to bene- 
fit you quite as much as my own daughter. Believe 
me, I shall not attempt to restrict you in any way ; I 
shall be too rejoiced to see you come forth in safety from 
the Grey Chamber.” 

All the relief I had begun to feel respecting the settle- 
ments was poisoned by these last words. Why did he 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 185 

talk of that confounded Grey Chamber as if it were a 
fiery furnace, or a cage of lions ? What mystery was 
there concealed beneath all this, and how, since I was 
obviously supposed to be thoroughly acquainted with it, 
could I manage to penetrate the secret of this perplexing 
appointment ? 

While he had been speaking, the faint, mournful 
music died away, and, looking up, I saw Chlorine, a pale, 
slight form, standing framed in the archway which con- 
nected the two rooms. 

“ Go back to your piano, my child,” said the baronet ; 

Augustus and I have much to talk about which is not 
for your ears.” 

But why not ? ” she said ; “ oh, why not ? Papa ! 
dearest rriother ! Augustus ! I can bear it no longer ! 
I have often felt of late that we are living this strange 
life under the shadow of some fearful Thing, which 
would chase all cheerfulness from any home. More 
than this I did not seek to know ; I dared not ask. But 
now, when I know that Augustus, whom I love with my 
whole heart, must shortly face this ghastly presence, 
you cannot wonder if I seek to learn the real extent of 
the danger that awaits him ! Tell me all. I can bear 
the worst — for it cannot be more horrible than my own 
fears ! ” 

Lady Catafalque had roused herself and was wringing 
her long mittened hands and moaning feebly. “ Paul,” 
she said, “ you must not tell her ; it will kill her ; she is 
not strong!” Her husband seemed undecided, and I 
myself began to feel exquisitely uncomfortable. Chlo- 
rine’s words pointed to something infinitely more terrible 
than a mere solicitor. 


186 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

Poor girl,” said Sir Paul at last, “ it was for your 
own good that the whole truth has been thus concealed 
from you ; but now, perhaps, the time has come when 
the truest kindness will be to reveal all. What do you 
say, Augustus ? ” 

I — I agree with you,” I replied faintly ; “ she ought 
to he told.” 

Precisely ! ” he said. Break to her, then, the 
nature of the ordeal which lies before you.” 

It was the very thing which I wanted to be broken 
to ine ! I would have given the world to know all 
about it myself, and so I stared at his gloomy old face 
with eyes that must have betrayed my helpless dismay. 
At last I saved myself by suggesting that such a story 
w^ould come less harshly from a parent’s lips. 

“ Well, so be it,” he said. ‘‘ Chlorine, compose your- 
self, dearest one ; sit down there, and summon up all 
your fortitude to hear what I am about to tell you. 
You must know, then — I think you had better let your 
mother give you a cup of tea before I begin ; it will 
steady your nerves.” 

During the delay which followed — for Sir Paul did 
not consider his daughter sufficiently fortified until she 
had taken at least three cups — I suffered tortures of 
suspense, which I dared not betray. 

They never thought of offering m^any tea, though the 
merest observer might have noticed how very badly I 
wanted it. 

At last the baronet was satisfied, and not without a 
sort of gloomy enjoyment and a proud relish of the 
distinction implied in his exceptional affliction, he began 
his weird and almost incredible tale. 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 187 

‘‘ It is now,” said he, ‘‘ some centuries since our ill- 
fated house was first afflicted with the family curse which 
still attends it. A. certain Humf rey de Catafalque, by his 
acquaintance with the black art, as it was said, had pro- 
cured the services of a species of familiar, a dread and 
supernatural being. For some reason he had conceived 
a bitter enmity towards his nearest relations, whom he 
hated with a virulence that not even death could soften. 
For, by a refinement of malice, he bequeathed this bale- 
ful thing to his descendants for ever, as an inalienable 
heirloom! And to this day it follows the title — and 
the head of the family for the time being is bound to 
provide it with a secret apartment under his own roof. 
But that is not the worst : as each member of our house 
succeeds to the ancestral rank and honors, he must seek 
an interview with ‘ The Curse,’ as it has been styled 
for generations. And, in that interview, it is decided 
whether the spell is to be broken and the Curse depart 
from us forever — or whether it is to continue its blight- 
ing influence, and hold yet another life in miserable 
thraldom.” 

“ And are you one of its thralls then, papa ? ” faltered 
Chlorine. 

“ I am, indeed,” he said. “ I failed to quell it, as 
every Catafalque, however brave and resolute, has 
failed yet. It checks all my accounts, and woe to me if 
that cold, withering eye discovers the slightest error — 
even in the pence column ! I could not describe the 
extent of my bondage to you, my daughter, or the 
humiliation of having to go and tremble monthly be- 
fore that awful presence. Not even yet, old as I am, 
have I grown quite accustomed to it ! ” 


188 TEE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 


Never, in my wildest imaginations, liad 1 anticipated 
anything one quarter so dreadful as this; but still I 
clung to the hope that it was impossible to bring me 
into the affair. 

But, Sir Paul,” I said— “ Sir Paul, you — you 
mustn’t stop there, or you’ll alarm Chlorine more than 
there’s any need to do. She — ha, ha ! — don’t you see, 
she has got some idea into her head that / have to go 
through much the same sort of thing. Just explain that 
to her. Pm not a Catafalque, Chlorine, so it — it can’t 
interfere with me. That is so, isrCt it. Sir Paul ? Good 
heavens, sir, don’t torture her like this ! ” I cried, as he 
was silent. Speak out ! ” 

“ You mean well, Augustus,” he said, “ but the time 
for deceiving her has gone by ; she must know the 
worst. Yes, my poor child,” he continued to Chlorine, 
whose eyes were wide with terror — though I fancy 
mine were even wider — unhappily, though our be- 
loved Augustus is not a Catafalque himself, he has of 
his own free will brought himself within the influence 
of the Curse, and he, too, at the appointed hour, must 
keep the awful assignation, and brave all that the 
most flendish malevolence can do to shake his resolu- 
tion.” 

1 could not say a single word ; the horror of the idea 
was altogether too much for me, and I fell back on my 
chair in a state of speechless collapse. 

‘‘You see,” Sir Paul went on explaining, “it is not 
only all new baronets, but every one who would seek 
an alliance with the females of our race, who must, bv 
the terms of that strange bequest, also undergo this trial. 
It may be in some degree owing to this necessity that, 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 189 

ever since Hiimfrey de Catafalque’s diabolical testament 
first took effect, every maiden of our house has died a 
spinster.” (Here Chlorine hid her face with a low wail.) 
“ In 1770, it is true, one solitary suitor was emboldened 
by love and daring to face the ordeal. He went calmly 
and resolutely to the chamber where the Curse was 
then lodged, and the next morning they found him out- 
side the door — a gibbering maniac ! ” 

I writhed on my chair. “ Augustus ! ” cried Chlorine 
wildly, “ promise me you will not permit the Curse to 
turn you into a gibbering maniac. I think if I saw you 
gibber I should die ! ” 

I was on the verge of gibbering then ; I dared not 
trust myself to speak. 

“Nay, Chlorine,” said Sir Paul more cheerfully, 
“ there is no cause for alarm ; all has been made smooth 
for Augustus.” (I began to brighten a little at this.) 
“His Aunt Petronia had made a special study of the 
old-world science of incantation, and had undoubtedly 
succeeded at last in discovering the master-word which, 
employed according to her directions, would almost cer- 
tainly break the unhallowed spell. In her compassion- 
ate attachment to us, she formed the design of persuad- 
ing a youth of blameless life and antecedents to present 
himself as our champion, and the reports she had been 
given of our dear Augustus’ irreproachable character led 
her to select him as a likely instrument. And her con- 
fidence in his generosity and courage was indeed well- 
founded, for he responded at once to the appeal of his 
departed aunt, and, with her instructions for his safe- 
guard, and the consciousness of his virtue as an addi 
tional protection, there is hope, my child, strong hope, 


190 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

that, though the struggle may be a long and bitter one, 
yet Augustus will emerge a victor ! ” 

I saw very little ground for expecting to emerge as 
anything of the kind, or for that matter to emerge at 
all, except in instalments — for the master-word which 
was to abash the demon was probabl}^ inside the packet 
of instructions, and that was certainly somewhere at the 
bottom of the sea, outside Melbourne, fathoms below 
the surface. 

I could bear no more. “ It’s simply astonishing to 
me,” I said, ‘‘ that in the nineteenth century, hardly six 
miles from Charing Cross, you can calmly allow this 
hideous ‘ Curse,’ or whatever you call it, to have things 
all its own way like this.” 

“ What can I do, Augustus ? ” he asked helplessly. 

“ Do ? Anything ! ” I retorted wildly (for I scarcely 
knew what I said). “ Take it out for an airing (it must 
want an airing by this time) ; take it out — and lose it ! 
Or get both the archbishops to step in and lay it for 
you. Sell the house, and make the purchaser take it at 
a valuation, with the other fixtures. 1 certainly would 
not live under the same roof with it. And I want you 
to understand one thing — I was never told all this ; I 
have been kept in the dark about it. Of course 1 knew 
there was some kind of a curse in the family — but I 
never dreamed of anything so bad as this, and I never 
had any intention of being boxed up alone with it 
either. I shall not go near the G-rey Chamber ! ” 

“Not go near it ! ” they all cried aghast. 

“ Not on any account,” I said, for I felt firmer and 
easier now that I had taken up this position. “ If the 
Curse has any business with me, let it come down and 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 191 

settle it here before you all in a plain straightforward 
manner. Let us go about it in a business-like way. 
On second thoughts,” I added, fearing lest they should 
find means of carrying out this suggestion. I won’t 
meet it anywhere ! ” 

And why — why won’t you meet it ? ” they asked 
breathlessly. 

“ Because,” I explained desperately, “ because I’m 
— I’m a materialist.” (I had not been previously aware 
that I had any decided opinions on the question, but I 
could not stay then to consider the point.) “How can 
I have any dealings with a preposterous supernatural 
something wLich my reason forbids me to believe in ? 
You see my difficulty? It would be inconsistent, to 
begin with, and — and extremely painful to both sides.” 

“JSTo more of this ribaldry,” said Sir Paul sternly. 
“ It may be terribly remembered against you when the 
hour comes. Keep a guard over your tongue, for all 
our sakes, and more especially your own. Recollect 
that the Curse knows all that passes beneath this roof. 
And do not forget, too, that you are pledged — irrevo- 
cably pledged. You must confront the Curse ! ” 

Only a short hour ago, and I had counted Chlorine’s 
fortune and Chlorine as virtually mine ; and now I saw 
my golden dreams roughly shattered for ever ! And, 
oh, what a wrench it was to tear myself from them ! 
what it cost me to speak the words that barred my Par- 
adise to me for ever ! 

But if I wished to avoid confronting the Curse — and 
I did wish this very much — I had no other course. “ I 
had no right to pledge myself,” I said, with quivering 
lips, “ under all the circumstances.” 


192 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 


“ Why not,” they demanded again ; what circum’ 
stances ? ” 

“ Well, in the first place,” I assured them earnestly, 
“ I’m a base impostor. I am indeed. I’m not Augustus 
McFadden at all. My real name is of no consequence 
— but it’s a prettier one than that. As for McFadden, 
he, I regret to say, is now no more.” 

Why on earth I could not have told the plain truth 
here has always been a mystery to me. I suppose I 
had been lying so long that it was difficult to break mj^- 
self of this occasionally inconvenient trick at so short a 
notice, but I certainly mixed things up to a hopeless extent. 

“ Yefe,” I continued mournfulljq “McFadden is dead ; 
I will tell you how he died if you would care to know. 
During his voyage here he fell overboard, and was al- 
most instantly appropriated by a gigantic shark, when, 
as I happened to be present, I enjoyed the melancholy 
privilege of seeing him pass away. For one brief mo- 
ment I beheld him between the jaws of the creature, so 
pale but so composed (I refer to McFadden, you under- 
stand — not the shark), he threw just one glance up at 
me, and with a smile, the sad sweetness of which I shall 
never forget (it was McFadden's smile, I mean, of course 
— not the shark’s), he, courteous and considerate to the 
last, requested me to break the news and remember him 
very kindly to you all. And, in the same instant he 
abruptly vanished within the monster — and 1 saw 
neither of them again ! ” 

Of course in bringing the shark in at all I was acting 
directly contrary to my instructions, but I quite forgot 
them in my anxiety to escape the acquaintance of the 
Curse of the Catafalques. 


THE GVRSE OP THE CATAPALQUBS. 193 

“ If this is true, sir,” said the baronet lianghtily, 
when I had finished, “you have indeed deceived us 
basely.” 

Tliat,” I replied, is wliat I was endeavoring to 
bring out. You see, it puts it quite out of my power to 
meet your family Curse. I should not feel justified in 
intruding upon it. So, if you will kindly let some one 

fetch a fiy or a cab in half an hour ” 

Stop ! ” cried Chlorine. Augustus, as 1 will call 
you still, you must not go like this. If you have stooped 
to deceit, it was for love of me, and — and Mr. McFadden 
is dead. If he had been alive, I should have felt it my 
duty to allows him an opportunity of winning my affec- 
tion, but he is lying in his silent tomb, and — and I have 
learnt to love you. Stay, then; stay and brave the 
Curse ; we may yet be happy ! ” 

I saw how foolish I had been not to tell the ti’uth at 
first, and I hasteiied to repair this error. When I de- 
scribed McFadden as dead,” I said hoarsely, was a 
loose way of putting the facts — because, to be quite ac- 
curate, he isn’t dead. We found out afterwards that it 
was another fellow the shark had swallowed, and, in fact, 
another shark altogether. So he is alive and well now, 
at Melbourne, but when he came to know about the 
Curse, he was too much frightened to come across, and 
he asked me to call and make his excuses. I have now 
done so, and will trespass no further on your kindness — 
if you will tell somebody to bring a vehicle of any sort 
in a quarter of an hour.” 

“Pardon me,” said the baronet, “but we cannot part 
in this way. I feared wFen first I saw you that your 

resolution might give ^vay under the strain ; it is only 
13 


194 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

natural, I admit. J3ut you deceive yourself if you think 
we cannot see that these extraordinary and utterly con- 
tradictory stories are prompted by sudden panic. I quite 
understand it, Augustus ; I cannot blame you ; but to 
allow you to withdraw now would be worse than weak- 
ness on my part. The panic will pass, you will forget 
these fears to-morrow, you must forget them ; remem- 
ber, you have promised. For your own sake, I shall 
take care that you do not forfeit that solemn bond, for 
I dare not let you run the danger of exciting the Curse 
by a deliberate insult.” 

I saw clearly that his conduct was dictated by a delib- 
erate and most repulsive selfishness ; he did not entirely 
believe me, but he was determined that if there was any 
chance that I, whoever I might be, could free him from 
his present thraldom, he would not let it escape him. 

I raved, I protested, I implored — all in vain ; they 
would not believe a single word I said, they positively 
refused to release me, and insisted upon my performing 
my engagement. 

And at last Chlorine and her mother left the room, 
with a little contempt for my unworthiness mingled with 
their evident compassion ; and a little later Sir Paul 
conducted me to my room, and locked me in “ till,” as 
he said, I had returned to my senses.” 

lY. 

What a night T passed, as I tossed sleeplessly from 
side to side under the canopy of my old-fashioned bed- 
stead, torturing my fevered brain with vain speculations 
as to the fate the morrow was to bring me. 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 195 

I felt myself perfectly helpless ; I saw no way out of 
it: they seemed bent upon offering me up as a sacriffce 
to this private Moloch of theirs. The baronet was 
quite capable of keeping me locked up all the next day 
and pushing me into the Grey Chamber to take my 
chance wlien the hour came. 

If I had only some idea what the Curse was like to 
look at, I thought I might not feel quite so afraid of it ; 
the vague and impalpable awfulness of the thing was 
intolerable, and the very thought of it caused me to 
fling myself about in an ecstasy of horror. 

By degrees, however, as daybreak came near, I grew 
calmer — until at length I arrived at a decision. It 
seemed evident to me that, as 1 could not avoid my fate, 
the wdsest course was to go forth to meet it with as good 
a grace as possible. Then, should I by some fortunate 
accident come well out of it, my fortune Avas insured. 

But if I went on repudiating my assumed self to the 
very last, 1 should surely arouse a suspicion which the 
most signal rout of the Curse would not serve to dispel. 

And after all, as I began to think, the whole thing 
had probably been much exaggerated ; if I could only 
keep my head, and exercise all my powers of cool im- 
pudence, I might contrive to hoodwink this formi- 
dable relic of mediaeval days, \Adiich must have fallen 
rather behind the age by this time. It might even 
turn out to be (although I was hardly as sanguine as to 
this) as big a humbug as I was myself, and we should 
meet with confidential winks, like the two augurs. 

But, at all events, I resolved to see this mysterious 
affair out, and trust to my customary good luck to bring 
me safely through, and so, having found the door uii- 


196 


TEE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 


locked, I came down to breakfast something like my 
usual self, and set myself to remove the unfavorable im- 
pression I had made on the previous night. 

They did it from consideration for me, but still it 
^oas mistaken kindness for them all to leave me entirely 
to my own thoughts during the whole of the day, for I 
was driven to mope alone about the gloom-laden build- 
ing, until by dinner-time I was very low indeed from 
nervous depression. 

We dined in almost unbroken silence ; now and then, 
as Sir Paul saw my hand approaching a decanter, he 
would open his lips to observe that I should need the 
clearest head and the firmest nerve ere long, and warn 
me solemnly against the brown sherry ; from time to 
time, too. Chlorine and her mother stole apprehensive 
glances at me, and sighed heavily between every course. 
I never remember eating a dinner wfith so little enjoy- 
ment. 

The meal came to an end at last ; the ladies rose, and 
Sir Paul and I w'ere left to brood over the dessert. I 
fancy both of us felt a delicacy in starting a conversa- 
tion, and before I could hit upon a safe remark. Lady 
Catafalque and her daughter returned, dressed, to my 
unspeakable horror, in readiness to go out. Worse than 
that even. Sir Paul apparently intended to accompany 
them, for he rose at their entrance. 

“ It is now time for us to bid you a solemn farew’ell, 
Augustus,” he said, in his hollow old voice. ‘‘You 
have three hours before you yet, and if you are wise, 
you will spend them in earnest self-preparation. At 
midnight, punctually, for you must not dare to delay, 
you will go to the Grey Chamber— the way thither you 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 197 

know, and yon will find the Curse prepared for you. 
Good-bye, then, brave and devoted boy ; stand firm, and 
no harm can befall you ! ” 

“ You are going away, all of you ! ” I cried. They 
were not what you might call a gay family to sit up 
with, but even their society was better than my own. 

‘‘ Upon these dread occasions,” he explained, it is 
absolutely forbidden for any human being but one to 
remain in the house. All the servants have already 
left, and we are about to take our departure for a pri- 
vate hotel near the Strand. We shall just have time, if 
we start at once, to inspect the Soane Museum on our 
way thither, which will serve as some distraction from 
the terrible anxiety we shall be feeling.” 

At this I believe I positively howled with terror ; 
all my old panic came back with a rush. Don’t leave 
me all alone with It I ” I cried ; I shall go mad if you 
do ! ” 

Sir Paul simply turned on his heel in silent contempt, 
and his wife followed him ; but Chlorine remained be- 
hind for one instant, and somehow, as she gazed at me 
with a yearning pity in her sad eyes, I thought I had 
never seen her looking so pretty before. 

“ Augustus,” she said, “ get up.” (I suppose I must 
have been on the floor somewhere.) “ Be a man ; show 
us we were not mistaken in you. You know I would 
spare you this if I could ; but we are powerless. Oh, be 
brave, or I shall lose you for ever ! ” 

Her appeal did seem to put a little courage into me ; 
I staggered up and kissed her slender hand and vowed 
sincerely to be worthy of her. 

And then she too passed out, and the heavy hall door 


198 


TEE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 


slammed behind the three, and the rusty old gate 
screeched like a banshee as it swung back and closed 
wdth a clang. 

I heard the carriage-wheels grind the slush, and the 
the next moment I knew tliat I was shut up on Christ- 
mas Eve in that sombre mansion — with the Curse of the 
Catafalques as my sole companion ! 

" I don’t think the generous ardor with which Chlorine’s 
last words had inspired me lasted very long, for I caught 
myself shivering before the clock struck nine, and, 
drawing up a clumsy leathern arm-chair close to the tire, 
I piled on the logs and tried to get rid of a certain hor- 
rible sensation of internal vacancy which was beginning 
to afflict me. 

I tried to look my situation fairly in the face ; what- 
ever reason and common sense had to say about it, there 
seemed no possible doubt that something of a super- 
natural order was shut up in that great chamber down 
the corridor, and also that, if I meant to win Chlorine, 
I must go up and have some kind of an interview^ with 
it. Once more I wished I had some definite idea to go 
upon ; what description of being should I find this 
Curse? Would it be aggressively ugly, like the bogie 
of my infancy, or should I see a lank and unsubstantial 
shape, draped in clinging black, with nothing visible be- 
neath it but a pair of burning hollow eyes and one long 
pale bony hand ? Eeally I could not decide which w^ould 
be the more trying of the two. 

By-and-by 1 began to recollect unwillingly all the 
frightful stories I had ever read ; one in particular came 
back to me — the adventure of a foreign marshal who, 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 199 

after much industiy, succeeded in invoking an evil 
spirit, which came bouncing into the room shaped like a 
gigantic ball, with, I think., a hideous face in tlie mid- 
dle of it, and would not be got rid of until the horrified 
marshal had spent hours in hard praying and persistent 
exorcism ! 

What should I do if the Curse was a globular one and 
came rolling all round the room after me ? 

Then there was another appalling tale I had read in 
some magazine — a tale of a secret chamber, too, and 
in some respects a very similar case to my own, for 
there the heir of some great house had to go in and 
meet a mysterious aged person with strange eyes and an 
evil smile, who kept attempting to shake hands with him. 

i^othing should induce me to shake hands with the 
Curse of the Catafalques, however apparently friendly I 
might find it. 

But it was not very likely to be friendly, for it was 
one of those mystic powers of darkness which know 
nearly everything — it would detect me as an impostor 
directly, and what would become of me ? I declare I 
almost resolved to confess all and sob out my deceit 
upon its bosom, and the only thing which made me 
pause was the refiection that probably the Curse did not 
possess a bosom. 

By this time I had worked myself up to such a pitch 
of terror that I found it absolutely necessary to brace 
my nerves, and I did brace them. I emptied all the 
three decanters, but as Sir Paul’s cellar was none of the 
best, the only result was that, while my courage and 
daring were not perceptibly heightened, I was conscious 
of feeling exceedingly unwell. 


200 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

Tobacco, no doubt, would have calmed and soothed 
me, but 1 did not dare to smoke. For the Curse, being 
old-fashioned, might object to tlie smell of it, and I w^as 
anxious to avoid exciting its prejudices unnecessai’ily. 

And so I simply sat in my cl i air and shook. Every 
now and then I heard steps on the frosty path outside : 
sometimes a rapid tread, as of some happy person 
bound to scenes of Christmas revehy, and little dream- 
ing of the miserable wretch he was passing ; sometimes 
the slow creaking tramp of the Fulham policeman on 
his beat. 

What if I called him in and gave the Curse into 
custody — either for putting me in bodily fear (as it was 
undeniably doing), or for being found on the premises 
under suspicious circumstances ? 

There was a certain audacity about this means of 
cutting the knot that fascinated me at first, but still I 
did not venture to adopt it, thinking it more pi*obable 
that the stolid constable would decline to interfere as 
soon as he knew the facts; and even if he did, it would 
certainly annoy Sir Paul extremely to hear of his 
Family Curse spending its Christmas in a police-cell, 
and I felt instinctively that he would consider it a piece 
of unpardonable bad taste on my part. 

So one hour passed. A few minutes after ten I 
heard more footsteps and voices in low consultation, as 
if a band of men had collected outside the railings. 
Could there be any indication without of the horrors 
these walls contained ? 

But no ; the gaunt house-front kept its secret too 
well ; they were merely the waits. They saluted me 
with the old carol, “ God rest you, merry gentleman. 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 201 

let nothing yon dismay ! ” which should have encour- 
aged me, but it didn’t, and they followed that up by 
a wheezy but pathetic rendering of “ The Mistletoe 
Bough.” 

For a time I did not object to them j while they were 
scraping and blowing outside I felt less abandoned 
and cut off from human help, and then they might 
arouse softer sentiments in the Curse upstairs by their 
seasonable strains : these things do happen at Christ- 
mas sometimes. But their performance was really so 
infernally bad that it Avas calculated rather to irritate 
than subdue any evil spirit, and very soon I rushed to 
the window and beckoned to them furiously to go 
awa}’. 

Unhappily, they thought I was inviting them in- 
doors for refreshment, and came round to the gate, 
when they knocked and rang incessantly for a quarter of 
an hour. 

This must have stirred the Curse up quite enough, 
but when they had gone, there came a man with a barrel- 
organ, which was suffering from some complicated in- 
ternal disorder, causing it to play its whole repertory at 
once, in maddening discords. Even the grinder him- 
self seemed dimly aware that his instrument was not 
doing itself justice, for he would stop occasionally, as if 
to ponder or examine it. But he was evidently a san- 
guine person and had hopes of bringing it I'ound by a 
little perseverance ; so, as Parson’s Green was well- 
suited by its quiet for this mode of treatment, he re- 
mained there till he must have reduced the Curse to a 
rampant and rabid condition." 

He went at last, and then the silence that followed 


202 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 


began to nij excited fancy (for I certainly saw nothing) 
to be invaded by strange sounds that echoed about the 
old house. I heard sharp reports from the furniture, 
sighing moans in the draughty passages, doors opening 
and shutting, and — worse still — stealthy padding foot- 
steps, both above and in the ghostly hall outside ! 

I sat there in an ice-cold perspiration, until my nerves 
required more bracing, to effect which I had recourse to 
the spirit-case. 

And after a short time my fears began to melt away 
rapidly. What a ridiculous bugbear I was making of 
this thing after all ! Was I not too hasty in setting it 
down as ugly and hostile before I had seen it . . . how 
did I know it was anything which deserved my horror ? 

Here a gush of sentiment came over me at the thought 
that it might be that for long centuries the poor Curse 
had been cruelly misunderstood— that it might be a 
Messing in disguise. 

I was so affected by the thought that I resolved to go 
up at once and wish it a merry Christmas through the 
keyhole, just to show that I came in no unfriendly spirit. 

But would not that seem as if I was afraid of it ? I 
scorned the idea of being afraid. Why, for two straws, 
I would go straight in and pull its nose for it — if it had 
a nose ! 

I went out with this object, not very steadily, but be- 
fore I had reached the top of the dim and misty stair- 
case, I had given up all ideas of defiance, and merely 
intended to go as far as the corridor by way of a prelim- 
inary canter. 

The coffin-lid door stood open, and I looked appre- 
hensively down the corridor ; the grim metal fittings on 


THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 20a 

the massive door of the Grey Chamber were gleaming 
with a mysterious pale light, something between the phe- 
nomena obtained by electricity and the peculiar phos- 
phorescence observable in a decayed shell-fish ; under 
the door I saw the reflection of a sullen red glow, and 
within I could hear sounds like the roar of a mighty 
wind, above which peals of fiendish mirth rang out at 
intervals, and were followed by a hideous dull clank- 
ing. 

It seemed only too evident that the Curse was getting 
up the steam for our interview. I did not stay there 
long, because I was afraid that it might dart out sud- 
denly and catch me eavesdropping, which would be a 
hopelessly bad beginning. 1 got bac;k to the dining- 
room, somehow ; the fire had taken advantage of my 
short absence to go out, and I was surprised to find by 
the light of the fast-dimming lamp that it was a quarter 
to twelve already. 

Only fifteen more fleeting minutes and then — unless 
I gave up Chlorine and her fortune for ever — I must go 
up and knock at that awful door, and enter the presence 
of the frightful mystic Thing that was roaring and 
laughing and clanking on the other side ! 

Stupidly I sat and stared at the clock ; in five min- 
utes, now, I should be beginning my desperate duel with 
one of the powers of darkness — a thought which gave 
me sickening qualms. 

I was clinging to the thought that I had still two 
precious minutes left — perhaps my last moments of 
safety and sanity — when the lamp expired with a gurg- 
ling sob, and left me in the dark. 

i w^as afraid of sitting there all alone any longer, and 


204 THE CURSE OF TEE CATAFALQUES. 


besides, if I lingered, the Curse might come down and 
fetch me. The horror of this idea made me resolve to 
go up at once, especially as scrupulous punctuality might 
propitiate it. 

Groping my way to the door, I reached the hall and 
stood there, swaying under the old stained-glass lantern. 
And then I made a terrible discovery. I was not in a 
condition to transact any business ; I had disregarded 
Sir Paul’s well-meant warning at dinner ; I was not my 
own master. I was lost ! 

The clock in the adjoining room tolled twelve, and 
from without the distant steeples proclaimed in faint 
peals and chimes that it was Christmas morn. My hour 
had come ! 

Why did I not mount those stairs ? I tried again and 
again, and fell down every time, and at each attempt I 
knew the Curse would be getting more and more im- 
patient. 

I was quite five minutes late, and yet, with all my 
eagerness to be punctual, I could not get up that stair- 
case. It was a horrible situation, but it was not at its 
worst even then, for I heard a jarring sound above, as 
if heavy rusty bolts were being withdrawn. 

The Curse was coming down to see what had become 
of me 1 I should have to confess my inability to go up- 
stairs without assistance, and so place myself wholly at 
his mercy ! 

I made one more desperate effort, and then — and then, 
upon my word, I don’t know how it was exactly — but, 
as I looked wildly about, I caught sight of my hat on 
the hat-rack below, and the thoughts it roused in me 
proved too strong for resistance. Perhaps it was weak 


TEE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 205 

of me, but I venture to think that very few men in my 
position would liave behaved any better. 

I renounced my ingenious and elaborate scheme for 
ever, the door (fortunately for me) was neither locked 
nor bolted, and the next moment I was running for mv 
life along the road to Chelsea, urged on by the fancy 
that the Curse itself was in hot pursuit. 


For weeks after that I lay in hiding, starting at every 
sound, so fearful was I that the outraged Curse might 
track me down at last ; all my worldly possessions were 
at Parson’s Green, and I could not bring myself to write 
or call for them, nor indeed have I seen any of the 
Catafalques since that awful Christmas Eve. 

I wish to have nothing more to do with them, for I 
feel naturally that they took a cruel advantage of my 
youth and inexperience, and I shall always resent the de- 
ception and constraint to which 1 so nearly fell a victim. 

But it occurs to me that those who may have followed 
my strange story with any curiosity and interest may be 
slightly disappointed at its conclusion, which I cannot 
deny is a lame and unsatisfactory one. 

They expected, no doubt to be told what the Curse’s 
personal appearance is, and how it comports itself in 
that ghastly Grey Chamber, what it said to me, and 
what I said to it, and what happened after that. 

This information, as will be easily understood, I can- 
not pretend to give, and, for myself, I liave long ceased 
to feel the slightest curiosity on any of these points. 
But for the benefit of such as are less indifferent, I may 


206 THE CURSE OF THE CATAFALQUES. 

suggest that almost any eligible bachelor would easily 
obtain the opportunities I failed to enjoy by simply 
calling at the old mansion at Parson’s Green, and pre- 
senting himself to the baronet as a suitor for his daugh- 
ter’s hand. 

I shall be most happy to allow my name to be used 
as a reference. 


A FAEEWELL APPEARANCE. 


A DOG STOEY FOE CHILDEEN. 


Dandy, come here, sir ; I want jmn.” The little 
girl who spoke was standing by the table in the morn- 
ing-roorn of a London house on a summer day, and she 
spoke to a small silver-gray terrier lying curled up at 
the foot of one of the window curtains. 

As Dandy happened to be particularly comfortable 
just then, he pretended not to hear, in the hope that 
his child-mistress would not press the point. 

But she did not choose to be trifled with in this way : 
he was called more imperiously still, until he could dis- 
semble no longer and came out gradually, stretching 
himself and yawning with a deep sense of injury. 

‘‘ I know you haven’t been asleep ; I saw you watch- 
ing the flies,” she said. Come up here, on the table.” 

Seeing there was no help for it, he obeyed, and sat 
down on the table-cloth opposite to her, with his tongue 
hanging out and his eyes blinking, waiting her pleasure. 

Dandy was rather particular as to the hands he al- 
lowed to touch him, but generally speaking, he found 
it pleasant enough (when he had nothing better to do) 
to resign himself to be pulled about, lectured, or ca- 
ressed by Hilda. 


208 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


She was a strikingly pretty child, with long curling 
brown locks, and a petulant profile, w^hich reminded 
one of Mr. Doyle’s charming wilful little fairy prin- 
cesses. 

On the whole, although Dandy privately considered 
she had taken rather a liberty in disturbing him, he was 
willing to overlook it. 

I’ve been thinking. Dandy,” said Hilda, reflectively, 
“that as you and Lady Angelina will be thrown a good 
deal together when we go into the country next week, 
you ought to know one another, and you’ve never been 
properly introduced yet ; so I’m going to introduce you 
now.” 

How Lady Angelina was only Hilda’s doll, and a doll, 
too, with perhaps a few ideas as any doll ever had yet 
— which is a good deal to say. 

Dandy despised her with all the enlightenment of a 
thoroughly superior dog ; he considered there Avas sim- 
ply nothing in her, except possibly bran, and it liad 
made him jealous and angry for a long time to notice 
the influence that this staring, simpering creature liad 
managed to gain over her mistress. 

“ How sit up,” said Hilda. Dandy sat up. He felt 
that committed him to nothing, but he was careful not 
to look at Lady Angelina, who Avas lolling ungracefully 
in the work-basket Avith her toes turned in. 

“Lady Angelina,” said Hilda next, Avith great cere- 
mony, “ let me introduce my particular friend Mr. Dan- 
dy. Dandy, you ought to boAV and say something nice 
and clever, only you can’t ; so you must give Angelina 
your paAv instead.” 

Here Avas an insult for a self-respecting dog ! Dandy 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


209 


determined never to disgrace himself by presenting his 
paw to a doll ; it was quite against his principles. He 
dropped on all fours rebelliously. 

That’s very rude of you,” said Hilda, '' but you shall 
do it. Angelina will think it is so odd of you. Sit up 
again and give your paw, and let Angelina stroke your 
head.” 

The dog’s little black nose wrinkled and his lips 
twitched, showing his sharp white teeth : he was not 
going to be touched by Angelina’s flabby wax hand if 
he could help it ! 

Unfortunately, Hilda, like older people sometimes, 
was bent upon forcing persons to know one another, in 
spite of an obvious unwillingness on at least one side, 
and so she brought the doll up to the terrier, and, tak- 
ing one limp pink arm, attempted to pat the dog’s head 
with it. 

This was too much ; his eyes flamed red like two sig- 
nal lamps, there was a sharp sudden snap, and the next 
minute Lady Angelina’s right arm was crunched viciously 
between Dandy’s keen teeth. 

After that there was a terrible pause. Dandy knew 
he was in for it, but he was not sorry. He dropped the 
mangled pieces of wax one by one, and stood there with 
his head on one side, growling to himself, but wincing 
for all that, for he was afraid to meet Hilda’s indignant 
gray eyes. 

^‘You abominable, barbarous dog!” she said at last, 
using the longest words she could to impress him. 
“ See what you’ve done ! you’ve bitten poor Lady 
Angelina’s arm off.” 

He could not deny it ; he had. He looked down at 
14 


210 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


the fragments before him, and then sullenly np again at 
Hilda. His eyes said what he felt — I’m glad of it — 
serves her right ; I’d do it again.” 

Yon deserve to be well whipped,” continued Hilda, 
severely ; but you do howl so. I shall leave yon to 
yonr own conscience ” (a favorite remark of her gover- 
ness) “ until yonr bad heart is touched, and yon come 
here and say you’re sorry and beg both our pardons. I 
only wish you could be made to pay for a new arm. 
Go away out of my sight, yon bad dog ; I can’t bear to 
look at yon ! ” 

Dandy, still impenitent, moved leisurely down from 
the table and out of the open door into the kitchen. 
He was thinking that Angelina’s arm was very nasty, 
and he should like something to take the taste away. 
When he got downstairs, however, he found the butcher 
was calling and had left the area gate open, which struck 
him as a good opportunity for a ramble. By the time 
he came back Hilda would have forgotten all about it, 
or she might think he was lost, and find out which was 
the more valuable animal — a silly, useless doll, or an 
intelligent dog like himself. 

Hilda saw him from the window as he bolted out with 
tail erect. ‘‘ He’s doing it to show off,” she said to her- 
self ; “ he’s a horrid dog sometimes. But I suppose I 
shall have to forgive him when he comes back ! ” 

However, Dandy did not come back that night, nor 
all next day, nor the day after that, nor any more ; for 
the fact was, an experienced dog-stealer had long had 
his eye upon him, and Dandy happened to come across 
him that very morning. 

He was not such a stupid dog as to be unaware he 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


211 


was doing wrong in following a stranger, but then the 
man had such delightful suggestions about him of things 
dogs love to eat, and Dandj had started for his run in a 
disobedient temper. 

So he followed the broken-nosed, bandj-legged man 
till they reached a narrow lonely alley, and then just as 
Dandy was thinking about going home again, the 
stranger turned suddenly on him, hemmed him up in a 
corner, caught him dexterously up in one hand, tapped 
him sharply on the head, and slipped him, stunned, into 
a capacious inside-pocket. 

“ I thought werry likely I should come on you in ’ere. 
Bob,” said a broken-nosed man in a fur cap, about a 
week after Dandy’s disappearance, to a short, red-faced, 
hoarse man who was drinking at the bar of a public-house. 

‘‘ Ah,” said the hoarse man ; “ well, you ain’t fur out 
as it happens.” 

“Yes, I did,” said the other. “I met your partner 
the other day, and he tells me you’re looking out for a 
noo Toby dawg. I’ve got a article sornewheres about me 
at this moment I should like you to cast a eye over.” 

And, diving into his inside pocket he fished out a 
small shining silver-gray terrier which he slammed down 
l ather roughly on the pewter counter. 

Of course the terrier was Hilda’s lost Dandy. For 
some reason or other, the dog-stealer had not thought it 
prudent to claim the reward offered for him as he had 
intended to do at first, and Dandy, not being of a breed 
in fashionable demand, the man was trying to get rid of 
him now for the best price he could obtain from humble 
purchasers. 


212 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


“ AYell, we do want a nnderstiicl}^, and that’s a fact,’^ 
said the hoarse man, who was one of the managers of 
Mr. Punch’s Theatre. ‘‘ The Toby as travels with us 
now is breakin’ up, getting so blind he don’t know 
Punch from Jack Ketch. But that there animal ’ud 
never make a ’it as a Toby,” he said, examining Dandy 
critically : “ why, that’s bin a gen’leman’s dawg once, 
that hat — we don’t want no amatoors on our show.” 

“ It’s the amatoors as draws nowadays,” said the dog- 
fancier: ‘‘not but wdiat this ’ere partic’lar dawg has his 
gifts for the purfession. You see him sit up and smoke 
a pipe and give Ver his paw, now.” 

And he put Dandy through these performances on 
the sloppy counter. It was much worse than being in- 
troduced to Angelina ; but hunger and fretting and 
rough treatment had broken down the dog’s spirit, and 
it was with dull submission now that he repeated the 
poor little tricks Hilda had taught him with such pretty 
perseverance. 

It’s no use talking,” said the showmian, though he 
began to show some signs of yielding. It takes a tyke 
born and bred to make a reg’lar Toby. And this ain’t 
a young dog, and he ain’t ’ad no proper dramatic eddi- 
cation ; he’s not worth to us not the lowest you’d take 
for him.” 

Well now. I’ll tell you how fur I’m willing to meet 
yer,” said the other persuasively ; ‘^you shall have him, 

seein’ it’s yoi^ for ” And so they haggled on for a 

little longer, but at the end of the interview Dandy had 
changed hands, and was permanently engaged as a mem- 
ber of Mr. Punch’s travelling company. 

A few days after that Dandy made acquaintance with 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


213 


his strange fellow- performers. The men had put the 
show np on a deserted part of a common near London, 
behind the railings of a little cemetery wdiere no one 
was likely to interfere with them, and the new Toby 
was hoisted np on the very narrow and uncomfortable 
shelf to go through his first interview with Mr. Punch. 

When that popular gentleman appeared at his side 
Dandy examined him with pricked and curious ears. 
He was rather red-looking, but his smile, though there 
was certainly a good deal of it, seemed genial and en- 
couraging, and the poor dog wagged his tail in a con- 
ciliatory manner — he wanted some one to be kind to 
him again. 

“ The dawg’s a fool. Bob,” growled Jem, the other 
proprietor of the show, a little shabby dirty-faced man 
with a thin and ragged red beard, who was watching 
the experiment from the outside ; he’s a-waggin’ his 
bloomin’ tail — he'll be a-lickin’ of Punch’s face next ! 
Try him with a squeak.” 

And Bob produced a sound which was a hideous 
compound of chuckle, squeak, and crow, when Dandy, 
in the full persuasion that the strange figure must be a 
new variety of cat, fiew at it blindly. 

But though he managed to get a firm grip of its great 
hook nose, there was not much satisfaction to be got 
out of that — the hard wood made his teeth ache, and 
besides, in his excitement he overbalanced himself and 
came suddenly down upon Mr. Robert Blott inside, who 
swore horribly and put him up again. 

Then, after a little highly mysterious dancing up 
and down, and wagging his head, Mr. Punch, in the 
most uncalled-for manner, hit Dandy over the head 


214 A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 

with a stick, in order, as Jem put it, “to get up a ill- 
feeling between them ” — a wanton insult that made the 
dog madder than ever. 

He did not revenge himself at once; he onlj^ barked 
furiously and retreated to his corner of the stage ; but 
the next time Punch came sidling cautiously up to 
him. Dandy made, not for his wooden head, but for a 
place between his shoulders which he thought looked 
more yielding. 

There was a savage howl from below. Punch dropped 
in a heap on the narrow shelf, and Mr. Blott sucked his 
linger and thumb with many curses. 

Mr. Punch was not killed, however, though Dandy 
had at first imagined he had settled him. He revived 
almost directly, when he proceeded to rain down such 
a shower of savage blows from his thick stick upon 
every part of the dog’s defenceless body, that Dandy 
was completely subdued long before his master thought 
fit to leave off. 

By the time the lesson came to an end. Dandy was 
sore and shaken and dazed, for Bob had allowed him- 
self to be a little carried away by personal feeling. 
Still it only showed Dandy more plainly that Mr. 
Punch was not a person to be trifled with, and, though 
he liked him as little as ever, he respected as well as 
feared him. 

Unfortunately for Dandy, he was a highly intelligent 
terrier, of an inquiring turn of mind, and so, after he 
had been led about for some days with the show, and 
was able to think things over and put them together, he 
began to suspect that Punch and the other figures were 
not alive after all, but only a particularly ugly set of 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


215 


dolls, which Mr. Blott put in motion in some way best 
known to himself. 

From the time he was perfectly certain of this he felt 
a degraded dog indeed. He had scorned once to allow 
himself to he even touched by Angelina (^who at least 
was not unpleasant to look at, and always quite inoffen- 
sive) : now, every hour of his life he found himself 
ordered about and insulted before a crowd of shabby 
strangers by a vulgar tawdry doll, to which he was 
obliged to be civil and even affectionate— as if it was 


something real ! 

Dandy was an honest dog, and so, of course, it was 
very revolting to his feelings to have to impose upon the 
public in this manner ; but Mr. Punch, if he was only a 
doll, had a way of making himself obeyed. 

And though in time the new Toby learnt to perform 
his duties respectably enough, he did so without the 
least enthusiasm: it wounded his pride — besides making 
him very uncomfortable — when Punch caught hold of 
his head, and something with red whiskers and a blue 
frock took him by the hind legs, and danced jerkily 
round the stage with him. He hated that more than 
anything. Day by day he grew more miserable and 
homesick. 

He loathed the Punch and Judy show and every doll 
in it, from the hero down to the ghost and the baby. 
Jem and Bob were not actually unkind to him, and 
would even have been friendly had he allowed it ; but 
he was a dainty dog, with a natural dislike to ill-dressed 
and dirty persons, and shrank from their rough if well- 
meant advances. He never could forget what he had 
once been, and what he was, and often, in the close 


216 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


sleeping-room of some common lodging-house, he 
dreamed of the comfortable home he had lost, and 
Hilda’s pretty imperious face, and woke to miss her 
more than ever. 

At first his new masters had been careful to keep him 
from all chance of escape, and Bob led him after the 
show by a string ; but, as he seemed to be getting re- 
signed to his position, allowed him to run loose. 

He was trotting tamely at Jem’s heels one hot 
August morning, followed by a small train of admiring 
childi’en, when all at once he became aware that he 
was in a street he knew well — he was near his old. 
home — a few minutes’ hard run and he would be safe 
with Hilda ! 

He looked up sideways at Jem, who was beating his 
drum and blowing his pipes, with his eyes on the lower 
and upper windows. Bob’s head was inside the show, 
and both were in front and not thinking of him just 
then. 

Dandy stopped, turned round upon the unwashed 
children behind, looked wistfully up at them, as much 
as to say, “ Don’t tell,” and then bolted at the top of his 
speed. 

There was a shrill cry from the children at once of 
‘^Oh, Mr. Punch, sir, please — your dawg’s a-runnin’ 
away from yer ! ” and angry calls to return from the two 
men. Jem even made an attempt to pursue him, but 
the drum was too much in his way, and a small dog is 
not easily caught at the best of times when he takes it 
into his head to run away. So he gave it up sulkily. 
Meanwhile Dandy ran on, till the shouts behind died 
away. Once an errand boy, struck by the parti-colored 


-A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 217 

frill round the dog’s neck, tried to stop him, but he 
managed to slip past him and run out into the middle 
of the road, and kept on blindly, narrowly escaping being 
run over several times by tradesmen’s carts. 

And at last, panting and exhausted, he reached the 
well-remembered gate, out of which he had marched so 
defiantly, it seemed long ages ago. 

The railings were covered with wire netting inside, as 
he knew, but fortunately some one had left the gate 
open, and he pattered eagerly down the area steps feel- 
ing safe and at home at last. 

The kitchen door was shut, but the window was not, 
and, as the sill was low, he contrived to scramble up 
somehow and jump into the kitchen, where he reckoned 
upon finding friends to protect him. 

But he found it empty, and looking strangely cold and 
desolate ; only a small fire was smouldering in the range, 
instead of the cheerful blaze he remembered there, and 
he could not find the cook — an especial patroness of his 
— anywhere. 

Tie scampered up into the hall, making straight for 
the morning-room, where he knew he should find Hilda 
curled up in one of the arm-chairs with a book. 

But that room was empty too — the shutters were up, 
and the half-light which streamed in above them showed 
a dreary state of confusion : the writing-table Avas cov- 
ered with a sheet and put away in a corner, the chairs 
were piled up on the centre table, the carpet had been 
taken up and rolled under the sideboard, and there Avas 
a faint Avarm smell of flue and dust and putty in the 
place. 

He pattered out again, feeling puzzled and a little 


218 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


afraid, and went up the bare stone staircase to find 
Hilda in one of the upper rooms, perhaps in the nurserv. 

But the upper rooms, too, were all bare and sheeted 
and ghostly, and, liigher up, the stairs were spotted with 
great stars of whitewash, and there were ladders and 
planks on which strange men in dirty white blouses were 
talking and joking a great deal, and doing a little white- 
washing now and then, w’hen they had time for it. 

Their voices echoed up and dowm the stairs wdth a 
hollow noise that scared him, and he w^as afraid to vent- 
ure any higher. Besides, he knew by this time some- 
how that Hilda, her father and mother, all the friends 
he had counted upon seeing again, wmuld not be found 
in any part of that house. 

It was the same house, though stripped and deserted, 
but all the life and color and w^armth had gone out of 
it ; and he ran here and there, seeking for them in vain. 

He picked his way forlornly down to the hall again, 
and there he found a mouldy old w^oman wdth a duster 
pinned over her head and a dustpan and brush in her 
hand ; for, unhappily for him, the family, servants and 
all, had gone away some days before into the country, 
and this old wmmaii had been put into the house as 
caretaker. 

She dropped liei* pan and brush with a start as she 
saw him, for she was not fond of dogs. 

Why, deary me,” she said, morosely, “ if it hasn’t 
give me quite a turn. How^ever did the nasty little 
beast get in ? a-gallivaiitiii’ about as if the ’ole place be- 
longed to him.” 

Dandy sat up and begged. In the old days he would 
not have done such a thing for any servant below a 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


219 


ok (who was always worth being polite to), but he 
'It a very reduced and miserable little animal indeed 
ist then, and he thought she might be able to take him 
i Hilda. 

|But the charwoman’s only idea was to get rid of him 
^quickly as possible. 

I Why, if it ain’t a Toby dawg ! ” she cried, as her 
Inn old eyes caught sight of his frill. Here, you get 
ut ; you don’t belong ’ere ! ” 

I And she took him up by the scruff of the neck and 
■rent to the front door. As she opened it, a sound came 
Ip’om the street outside which Dandy knew only too 
Ivell : it was the long-drawn squeak of Mr. Punch. 

“ That’s where he come from. I’ll bet a penny,” cried 
(the caretaker, and she went down the steps and called 
over the gate, Hi, master, you don’t happen to have 
lost your Toby daw^g, do you ? Is this him ? ” 

The man wdth the drum came up — it was Jem him- 
self ; and thereupon Dandy was ignominiously handed 
over the railings to him, and delivered up once more to 
the hard life he had so nearly succeeded in shaking off. 

He had a severe beating when they got him home, as 
a warning to him not to rebel again ; .and he never did 
try to run away a second time. Where was the good of 
it ? Hilda was gone he did not know where, and the 
house was a home no longer. 

So he went patiently about with the show, a dismal 
little dog-captive, the dullest little Toby that ever de- 
lighted a street audience; so languid and listless at 
times that Mr. Punch was obliged to rap him really 
hard on the head befoi-e he could induce him to take 
the slightest notice of him. 


220 


A F ABE WELL APPEARANCE. 


But in spite of all this, he made the people laugh ; moA 
perhaps, at night, when the show was lit np by a flarirJ 
can of paraffin, and he sat with his feet in Puncl 
coffin, howling dolefully at the melancholy struir'? 
Jem’s pipes, wdiich Dandy always found too iiKWu 
his feelings. / 


It was winter time, about a fortnight after Christn. 
and the night was snowy and slushy outside, thougll 
w^arm enough in the kitchen of a big Belgravian housel 
The kitchen w^as crowded, a sti’eam of waiters anc] 
gorgeous powdered footmen and smart maids was per- 
petually coming and going ; in front of the fire a tired] 
little terrier, with a shabby frill round his neck, was] 
basking in the blaze, and near him sat a little dirty- 
faced man with a red beard, who was being listened to] 
with some attention by a few of the upper servants, wdiol 
w’ere enjoying a moment’s leisure. 

“Yes,” he was saying, “I’ve been in the purfession 
a sight o’ years now, but I don’t know as I ever heard | 
on a Punch’s show like me and my mate’s bein’ en- 
gaged for a reg’lar swell evenin’ party afore. It shows, 
to my mind, as public taste is a-coming round — it ain’t 
quite so low as formerly.” 

The little man was-^Jem ; and he, with his partner 
Bob, and Dandy, w^ere in the house owing to an eccentric 
notion of its master, who happened to have a taste for 
experiments. 

He agreed with many who consider that some kind of 


amusement in the intervals of dancing is welcome to 


children ; but it was one of his ideas, too, that they 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


221 


must be getting a little bored by the inevitable lecture 
with the dissolving views, and find a conjuror (even 
after seeing him several times in a fortnight), as a rule, 
bewildering than amusing; although as a present- 
^ producing animal, the last has his compensations. 

He was curious to see whether the drama of Punch 
and Judy had quite lost its old power to please. He 
could easily have hired an elegant and perfectly refined 
form of the entertainment from some of the fashionable 
toy-shops or “ universal providers,” only unfortunately 
in these improved versions mucli of the original fun is 
often found to have been refined away. 

So he had decided upon introducing the original Mr. 
Punch from his native streets and in his natural un- 
civilized state, and Jem and Bob chanced to be the per- 
sons selected to exhibit him. 

Juveniles is all alike,” observed the butler, who, 
having been commissioned to engage the showmen, con- 
descended to feel a fatherly interest in the affair ; “ ’igh 
or low, there’s nothing pleases ’em more than seeing one 
party a-fetching another party a thunderin’ good whack 
over the ’ead. That’s where, in jny opinion, all these 
pantomimes makes a mistake. There’s too much bally 
and music ’all about ’em and not ’arf enough buttered 
slide and red-’ot poker.” 

“ There’s plenty of ’ead whackin’ in our show,” said 
Jem, with some pride, “for my partner, you see, he 
don’t find as the dialogue come as fluid to him as he 
could wish for, so he cuts a deal of it, and what ain’t 
squeakin’ is mostly stick — like a cheap operer.” 

“ Your little dog seems very wet and tired,” said a 
pretty housemaid, bending down to pat Dandy, as he 


222 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


lay stretched out wearily at her feet. Would he eat a 
cake if I got one for him ? ” 

He ain’t, not to say, fed on cakes as a general thing,” 
said Jem drilj^, “ but you can try him, miss, and thankee.” 

But Dandy only half raised his head and rejected the 
cake languidly — he was very comfortable there in the 
warm firelight, and the place made him feel as if he 
were back in his own old kitchen, but he was too tired 
to be hungry. 

He won’t hardly look at it,” said the housemaid 
compassionately. “ I don’t think he can be well.” 

‘‘Well! ’’said Jem. He’s well enough; that’s all 
his contrariness, that is. The fact is, he thinks hisself 
a deal too good for the likes of us, he do— thinks he 
ought to be kep’ on chickin in a droring-room ! ” he 
sneered, wasting his satire on the unconscious Dandy. 

“ I tell you what it is, miss : that there dawg’s ’art 
ain’t in his business — he reg’lar looks down on the ’ole 
concern, thinks it low ! Why, I see ’im from the werry 
fust a-turnin’ up his nose at it, and it downright set me 
against him. Give me a Toby as takes a interest in the 
drama ! The last but one as we had afore him, now, he 
used to look on from start' finish, and when Punch 
went and ’anged Jack Ketch, why, that dawg used to 
bark and jump about as pleased as Puncli ’isself, and 
he’d go in among the crowd too and fetch back the 
babby as Punch pitched out o’ winder, as tender with it 
as a Kewfunland ! And he warn’t like the general run 
of Tobies neithei’, for he got quite thick with the Punch 
figger — thought a deal on ’im, he did — and if you’ll be- 
lieve me, when I ’ad to get the figger a noo ’ead and 
costoom, it broke the dawg’s ’art — he pined away quite 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 223 

rapid. But this ’ere one wouldn’t turn a ’air if the ’ole 
company went to blazes together ! ” 

Here Bob, who had been setting up the show in one 
of the rooms, came into the kitchen, looking rather un- 
easy at finding himself in such fine company, and Dandy 
was spared further upbraid ings, as he was called upon 
to follow the pair upstairs. 

They went up into a large handsome room, where at 
the end there were placed rows of rout seats and chairs, 
and at the other the homely old show, seeming oddly 
out of place in its new surroundings. 

Poor draggled Dandy felt more ashamed of it and 
himself than ever, and he was glad to get away under 
its ragged hangings and lie still by Bob’s dirty boots till 
he was wanted. 

And then there was the sound of children’s.voices 
and laughter as they all came trooping in, with a crisp 
rustle of delicate dresses and a scent of hothouse fiow- 
ers and kid gloves, that reached Dandy where he lay ; 
it reminded him of evenings long ago when Hilda had 
had parties, and he had been washed and combed and 
decked out in ribbons for the occasion, and children had 
played with him and given him nice things to eat— they 
had generally disagreed with him, but now he could 
only remember the pleasure and petting of it all. 

He would not be petted any more ! Presently these 
children would see him smoking a pipe and being famil- 
iar with that low Punch. They would laugh at him too 
— they always did — and Dandy, like most dogs, hated 
being laughed at, and never took it as a compliment. 

The host’s experiment was evidently a complete suc- 
cess 5 the children, even the most hlo/ses^ who danced 


224 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


the newest valse step and thought pantomimes vuilgar, 
were delighted to meet an old friend so unexpected. A 
good many had often yearned to see the whole show 
right through from beginning to end, and chance or a 
stern nurse had never permitted it. ~Now their time^ 
had come, and Mr. Punch, in spite of his lamentable 
shortcomings in every relation of life, was received with 
the usual uproarious applause. 

At last the hero called for his faithful dog Toby, as a 
distraction after the painful domestic scenes, in which 
he had felt himself driven to throw his child out of 
window and silence the objections of his wife by becom- 
ing a widower, and accordingly Dandy was caught up 
and set on the shelf by his side. 

The sudden glare hurt his eyes, and he sat there 
blinking at the audience with a pitiful want of pride in 
his dignity as Dog Toby. 

He tried to look as if he didn’t know Punch, who 
was doing all he could to catch his eye, for his riotous 
“ rootitoot ” made him shiver nervously, and long to get 
away from the whole thing and lie down somewhere in 
peace. 

Jem was scowling up at him balefull^". know’d 
that ’ere dawg would go and disgrace hisself,” he was 
saying to himself. “When I get him to myself, he 
shall catch it for this ! ” 

Dandy was able to see better now, and he found, as 
he had guessed, that here w^as not one of his usual 
audiences — no homely crowd of loitering errand-boys, 
smirched maids-of-all-work, and ragged children jostling 
and turning their grinning white faces up to him. 

There were children here too — plenty of them — but 


A FAME WELL APPEARANCE. 


225 


children at their best and daintiest, and looking as if 
untidiness and quarrels were things unknown to them — 
though possibly they were not. The laughter, however, 
was much the same as he was accustomed to, more 
musical perhaps, and pleasanter to hear, but quite as 
hearty and unrestrained — they were laughing at A^m, 
and he hung his head abashed. 

But all at once he forgot his shame, though he did not 
remember Mr. Punch a bit the more for that ; he ran 
backwards and forwards on his ledge, sniffing and whin- 
ing, wagging his tail and giving short piteous barks in a 
state of the wildest excitement. The reason of it was 
this : near the end of the front row he saw a little girl 
who was bending eagerly forward with her pretty gray 
eyes wide open and a puzzled line on her forehead. 

Dandy knew her at the very first glance. It was 
Hilda, looking more like a fairy princess than ever. 

She knew him almost as soon, for her clear voice rang 
out above the general laughter. “ Oh, that isn’t Toby 
— he’s my own dog, my Dandy, that I lost ! It is really ; 
let him come to me, please do ! Don’t you see how 
badly he wants to .? ’’ 

There was a sudden surprised silence at this — even 
Mr. Punch was quiet for an instant; but as soon as 
Dandy heard her voice he could wait no longer, and 
crouched for a spring. 

‘‘Catch the dog, somebody, he’s going to jump!” 
CT*ied the master of the house, more amused than ever, 
from behind. 

Jem was too sulky to interfere, but some good-natured 
grown-up person caught the trembling dog just in time 
to save him from a broken leg, or worse, and handed 
15 


226 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 


him to liis delighted little mistress ; and I think the 
frantic joy which Dandy felt as he was clasped tight in 
her loving arms once more and covered her flushed face 
with eager kisses more than made np for all he had 
suffered. 

Hilda scornfully refused to have anything to do with 
Jem, who tried hard to convince her she was mistaken. 
She took her recovered favorite to her hostess. 

“ He really is mine ! ” she assured her earnestly ; and 
he doesn’t want to be a Toby, Pm sure he doesn’t : see 
how he trembles when that horrid man comes near. 
Dear Mrs. Lovibond, please tell them Pm to have him ! ” 

And of course Plilda carried her point, for the show- 
men were not unwilling, after a short conversation with 
the master of the house, to give up their rights in a dog 
who would never be much of an ornament to their pro- 
fession, and was out of health into the bargain. 

Hilda held Dandy, all muddy and draggled as he was, 
fast in her arms all through the remainder of the per- 
formance, as if she was afraid Mr. Punch might still 
claim him for his own ; and the dog lay there in meas- 
ureless content. The hateful squeak made him start and 
shiver no more ; he was too happy to howl at Jem’s dis- 
mal pipes and drum : they had no terrors for him any 
more. 

“ I think I should like to go home now,” she said to 
her hostess, when Mr. Punch had Anally retired. Dan- 
dy is so excited ; feel how his heart beats, just there, 
you know ; he ought to be in bed, and I want to tell 
them all at home so much ! ” 

She resisted all despairing entreaties to stay, from 
several small partners who felt a blank after she had 


A FAREWELL APPEARANCE. 227 

gone — till supper came ; and so her carriage was called, 
and she and Dandy drove home in it together once 
more. 

“ Dandy, you’re very quiet,” she said once, as they 
bowled easily and swiftly along. Aren’t you going to 
tell me you’re glad to be mine again ? ” 

But Dandy could only wag his tail feebly and look 
up in her face with an exhausted sigh. He had suffered 
much and was almost worn out ; but rest was coming to 
him at last. 

As soon as the carriage had stopped and the door was 
opened, Hilda ran in, breathless with excitement. 

“Oh, Parker, look!” she cried to the maid in the 
hall, “ Dandy is found— he’s here ! ” 

The maid took the lifeless little body from her, 
looked at it for a moment under the lamp, and turned 
away without speaking. Then she placed it gently in 
Hilda’s arms again. 

“ Oh, Miss Hilda, didn’t you see ? ” she said with a 
catch in her voice. “ Don’t take on, now ; but it’s come 
too late — poor little dog, he’s gone ! ” 


ACCOMPANIED ON THE ELUTE. 


A TALE OF ANCIENT KOME. 


The Consul Duilius was entering Pome in triumph 
after his celebrated defeat of the Carthaginian fleet at 
Mylse. He had won a great naval victory for his coun- 
try with the first fleet that it had ever possessed — which 
was naturally a gratifying reflection, and be would have 
been perfectly happy now, if he had only been a little 
more comfortable. 

But he was standing in an extremely rickety chariot, 
which w^as crammed with his nearer relations and a few 
old friends, to whom he had been obliged to send 
tickets. At his back stood a slave who held a heavy 
Etruscan crown on the Consul’s head, and whenever he 
thought his master was growing conceited, threw in the 
reminder that he was only a man after all — a liberty 
which at any other time he might have had good reason 
to regret. 

Then the large Delphic wreath, which Duilius wore 
as well as the crown, had slipped down over one eye and 
was tickling his nose, while — as both his hands were 
occupied, one with a sceptre, the other with a laurel 
bough, and he had to hold on tightly to the rail oi the 


ACCOMPANIED ON THE FLUTE. 


229 


chariot whenever it julted— there was nothing to do 
hut suffer in silence. 

They had insisted, too, upon painting him a beautiful 
bright red all over, and though it made him look quite 
new, and very shining and splendid, he had his doubts 
at times whether it was altogether becoming, and par- 
ticulai-ljq whether he would ever be able to get it off 
again. 

But these were but trifles after all, and nothing com- 
pared with the honor and glory of it ! Was not every- 
body straining to catch a glimpse of him ? Did not 
even the spotted and skittish horses which drew the 
chariot repeatedly turn round to gaze upon his vermil- 
ioned features ? As Duilius remarked this, he felt that 
he was, indeed, the central personage in all this magnifi- 
cence, and that, on the whole, he liked it. 

He could see the beaks of the ships he had captured, 
bobbing up and down in the middle distance ; he could 
see the white bulls destined for sacrifice entering com- 
pletely into the spirit of the thing, and redeeming the 
procession from any monotony by occasionally bolting 
down a back street, or tossing on their gilded horns 
some of the flamens who were walking solemnly in front 
of them. 

He could hear, too, above five distinct brass bands, 
the remarks of his friends as they predicted rain, or ex- 
pressed a pained surprise at the smallness of the crowd 
and the absence of any genuine enthusiasm ; and he 
caught the general purport of the very offensive ribaldry 
circulated at his own expense among the brave legions 
that brought up the rear. 

This was merely the usual course of things on such 


230 


ACCOMPANIED ON. THE FLUTE. 


occasions, and a great compliment when properly under- 
stood, and Duilius felt it to be so. In spite of liis 
friends, and the red paint, and the familiar slave, in 
spite of the extreme heat of the weather and his itching 
nose, he told himself that this — and this alone — was 
worth living for. 

And it was a painful reflection to him that, after all, 
it would only last a day : he could not go on triumphing 
like this for the remainder of his natural life — he 
would not be able to afford it on his moderate income ; 
and 3"et — and yet — existence would fall wofully flat af- 
ter so much excitement. 

It may be supposed that Duilius was naturally fond 
of ostentation and notoriety, but this was far from be- 
ing the case ; on the contrary, at ordinary times his dis- 
position was retiring and almost shy ; but his sudden 
success had worked a temporary change in him, and in 
the very flush of triumph he found himself sighing to 
think that, in all human probability, he would never go 
about with trumpeters and trophies, with flute-players 
and white oxen, any more in his whole life. 

And then he reached the Torta Triumphalis, where 
the chief magistrates and the Senate awaited them, all 
seated upon spirited Roman-nosed chargers, which 
showed a lively emotion at the approach of the pro- 
cession, and caused some of their riders to dismount, 
with as much affectation of method and design as their 
dignity enjoined and the nature of the occasion per- 
mitted. 

There Duilius was presented with tha freedom of the 
City and an address, which last he put in his pocket, as 
he explained, to read at home. 


ACCOMPANIED ON THE FLUTE. 231 

And then an ^dile informed him in a speech, during 
which he twice lost his notes and had to be prompted 
by a lictor, that the grateful Eepublic, taking into con- 
sideration the Consurs distinguished services, had re- 
solved to disregard expense, and on that auspicious 
day to give him whatever reward he might choose to 
demand — “ in reason,” the ^dile added cautiously, as 
he quitted his saddle with an unexpectedness which 
scarcely seemed intentional. 

Diiilius was naturally a little overwhelmed by such 
liberality, and, like eveiy one else favored suddenly with 
such an opportunity, was quite incapable of taking com- 
plete advantage of it. 

For a time he really could not remember in his con- 
fusion anything he would care for at all, and he thought 
it might look mean to ask for money. 

At last he recalled his yearning for a Perpetual 
Triumph, but his natural modesty made him moderate, 
and he could not find courage to ask for more than a 
fraction of the glory that now attended him. 

So, not without some hesitation, he replied that they 
were exceedingly kind, and since they left it entirely to 
his discretion, he would like — if they had no objection 
— he would like a flute-player to attend him whenever 
he went out. 

Duilius very pearly asked for a white bull as well ; 
but, on second thoughts, he felt it might lead to incon- 
venience, and there were many difiiculties connected 
with the proper management of such an animal ; the 
Consul, from what he had seen that day, felt that it 
would be imprudent to trust himself in front of the bull 
— while, if he walked behind, he might be mistaken for a 


332 


ACCOMPANIED ON THE FLUTE. 


cattle-driver, which would be odious. And so he gave 
up that idea, and contented himself with a simple flute- 
player. 

The Senate, visibly relieved by so very unassuming a 
request, granted it with positive effusion ; Duilius was 
invited to select his musician, and chose the biggest, 
after which the procession moved on through the Arch 
and up the Capitoline Hill, while the Consul had time 
to remember things he would have liked even better than 
a flute-player, and to suspect dimly that he might have 
made rather an ass of himself. 

That night Duilius was entertained at a supper given 
at the public expense ; he went out with the proud 
resolve to show his sense of the compliment paid him 
by scaling the giddiest heights of intoxication. The 
Homans of that day only drank wine and water at 
their festivals, but it is astonishing how inebriated a 
person of powerful will can become — even on wine and 
water — if he only gives his mind to it. And Duilius, 
being a man of remarkable determination, returned from 
that hospitable board particularly drunk ; the flute- 
player saw him home, however, helped him to bed, 
though he could not induce him to take off his sandals, 
and lulled him to a heavy slumber by a selection from 
the popular aii’s of the time. 

So that the Consul, although he awoke late next day 
with a bad headache and a perception of the vanity of 
most things, still found reason to congratulate himself 
upon his forethought in securing so invaluable an at- 
tendant, and planned, rather hopefully, sundry little 
ways of making himself useful about the house. 


ACCOMPANIED ON THE FLUTE. 233 

As the subsequent history of this great naval com- 
mander is examined with the impartiality that becomes 
the historian, it is impossible to be blind to the melan- 
choly fact that, in the first fiush of his elation, Duilius 
behaved with an utter want of tact and taste that must 
have gone far to undermine his popularity, and proved 
a source of much gratification to his friends. 

He would use that flute-player everywhere — he over- 
did the thing altogether : for example, he used to go out 
to pay formal calls, and leave the flute-player in the hall, 
tootling to such an extent that at last his acquaintances 
were forced in self-defence to deny themselves to him. 

■When he attended worship at the temples, too, he 
would bring the flute-player with him, on the flimsy 
pretext that he could assist the choir during service ; and 
it was the same at the theatres, where Duilius — such was 
his arrogance — actually would not take a box unless the 
manager admitted his flute-player to the orchestra and 
guaranteed him at least one solo between the acts. 

And it was the ConsnPs constant habit to strut about 
the Forum with his musician executing marches behind 
him, until the spectacle became so utterly ridiculous that 
even the Homans of that age, who were as free from 
the slightest taint of humor as a self-respecting nation 
can possibly be, began to notice something peculiar. 

But the day of retribution dawned at last. Duilius 
worked the flute so incessantly that the musician’s stock 
of airs was very soon exhausted, and then he was nat- 
urally obliged to blow them all through once more. 

The excellent Consul had not a fine ear, but even he 
began to hail the fiftieth repetition of ‘‘Pugnare nolu- 
mus,” for instance — the great national peace anthem of 


234 


ACCOMPANIED ON THE FLUTE. 


the period — with the feeling that he had heard the same 
tune at least twice before, and preferred something 
slio^htlv fresher, while others had taken a much shorter 
time in arriving at the same conclusion. 

The elder Duilius, the Consul’s father, w^as perhaps 
the most annoyed by it ; he was a nice old man in his 
way — the glass and china way — but he was a tj^pical old 
Koman, with a manly contempt for pomp, vanity, music, 
and the fine arts generally. 

So that his son’s fiute-player, performing all day in 
the courtyard, drove the old gentleman nearly mad, un- 
til he would rush to the windows and hurl the lighter 
articles of furniture at the head of the persistent musi- 
cian, who, however, after dodging them with dexterity, 
affected to treat them as a recognition of his efforts, and 
carried them away gratefully to sell. 

Duilius senior would have smashed the fiute, only it 
was never laid aside for a single instant, even at meals ; 
he would have made the player drunk and incapable, 
but he was a member of the Manus Spei., and he would 
with clieerfulness have given him a heavy bribe to go 
away, if the honest fellow had not proved absolutely in- 
corruptible. 

So he could only sit down and swear, and then relieve 
his feelings by giving his son a severe thrashing, with 
tlireats to sell him for whatever he might fetch : for, in 
the curious conditions of ancient Roman society, a father 
possessed both these rights, however his offspring might 
have distinguished himself in public life. 

R'aturally, Duilius did not like the idea of being put 
up to auction, and he began to feel that it was slightly 
undignified for a Roman general who had won a naval 


ACCOMPANIED ON THE FLUTE. 


235 


victory and been awarded a first-class Triumph to be 
undergoing corporal punishment daily at the hands of 
an unfiinching parent, and accordingly he determined to 
go and expostulate with his fiute-player. 

He was beginning to find him a nuisance himself, for 
all his old shy reserve and unwillingness to attract atten- 
tion had returned to him ; he was fond of solitude, and 
yet he could never be alone ; he was weary of doing 
everything to slow music, like the bold bad man in a 
melodi'ama. 

He could not even go across the street to purchase a 
postage-stamp without the fiute-player coming stalking 
out after him, playing away like a public fountain; 
while, owing to the well-known susceptibility of a rabble 
to the charm of music, the disgusted Consul had to take 
his walks abroad at the head of Rome’s choicest scum. 

Duilius, with a lively recollection of these inconven- 
iences, would have spoken very seriously indeed to his 
musician, but he shrank from hurting his feelings by 
the plain truth. He simply explained that he had not 
intended the other to accompany hitn always^ but only 
on special occasions; and, while professing the sin- 
cerest admiration for his musical proficiency, he felt, 
as he said, unwilling to monopolize it, and unable to en- 
joy it at the expense of a fellow-creature’s rest and. coiii- 
fort. 

Perhaps he put the thing a little too delicately to se- 
cure the object he had in view, for the musician, although 
he was obviously deeply touched by such unwonted con- 
sideration, waived it aside with a graceful fervor that 
was quite irresistible. 

He assured the Consul that he was only too happy 


236 


ACCOMPANIED ON THE FLUTE. 


to have been selected to render his humble tribute to 
the naval genius of so eminent a commander ; he 
would not admit that his own rest and comfort were in 
the least affected by his exertions, for, being naturally 
fond of the flute, he could, he protested, perform upon 
it continuously for whole days without fatigue. And 
he concluded by pointing out very respectfully that for 
the Consul to dispense, even to a small extent, with an 
honor decreed (at his own particular request) by the 
Kepublic, would have the appearance of ingratitude, and 
expose him to the gravest suspicions. After which he 
rendered the ancient love chant, ‘‘ Ludus idem, Indus 
vetus,” with singular sweetness and expression. 

Duilius felt the force of his arguments : Eepublics 
are proverbially forgetful, and he was aware that it 
might not be safe, even for him, to risk offending the 
Senate. 

So he had nothing to do but just go on, and be fol- 
lowed about by the flute-player, and castigated by his 
parent in the old familiar way, until he had very little 
self-respect left. 

At last he found a distraction in his care-laden exist- 
ence — he fell deeply in love. But even here a musical 
JN^emesis attended him, to his inflnite embarrassment, 
in the person of his devoted follower. Sometimes 
Duilius would manage to elude him and slip out unseen 
to some sylvan retreat, where he had reason to hope for 
a meeting with the object of his adoration. He gen- 
erally found that in this expectation he had not de- 
ceived himself ; but always, just as he had found cour- 
age to speak of the passion that consumed him, a faint 
tune would strike his ear from afar, and, turning his 


ACCOMPANIED ON THE FLUTE. 


237 


head in a fuiy, he would see his faithful flute-player 
striding over the fields in pursuit of him with unquench- 
able ardor. 

He gave in at last, and submitted to the necessitv 
of speaking all his tender speeches “ through music.’’ 
Claudia did not seem to mind it, perhaps finding an 
additional romance in being wooed thus, and Duilins 
himself, who was not eloquent, found that the flute 
came in very well at awkward pauses in the conversa- 
tion. 

Then they were married, and, as Claudia played very 
nicely herself upon i\iQ tihioe., she got up musical even- 
ings, when she played duets with the flute-player, which 
Duilius, if he had only had a little more taste for music, 
might have enjoyed immensely. 

As it was, beginning to observe for the first time that 
the musician was far from uncomely, he forbade the 
duets. Claudia wept and sulked, and Claudia’s mother 
said that Duilius was behaving like a brute, and she was 
not to mind him ; but the harmony of their domestic 
life was broken, until the poor Consul was driven to 
take long country walks in sheer despair, not because he 
was fond of walking, for he hated it, but simply to keep 
the flute-player out of mischief. 

He was now debarred from all other society, for his 
old friends had long since cut him dead whenever he 
chanced to meet them. How could he expect people 
to stop and talk,” they asked indignantly, when there 
was that confounded fellow blowing tunes down the 
backs of their necks all the time ? ” 

Duilius had had enough of it himself, and felt this so 
strongly that one day he took his flute-player a long 


238 


AGGOMPANIED ON THE FLUTE. 


walk through a lonely wood, and, choosing a moment 
when his companion had played Id omnes faciunt ” 
till he was somewhat out of breath, he turned on him 
suddenly. When he left the lonely wood he was alone, 
and somewhere in the undergrowth lay a broken flute, 
and near it something which looked as if it might once 
have been a musician. 

The Consul went home and sat there waiting for the 
deed to become generally known. He waited with a 
certain uneasiness, because it was impossible to tell how 
the Senate might take the thing, or the means by which 
their vengeance would declare itself. 

And yet his uneasiness was counterbalanced by a de- 
licious relief : the State might disgrace, banish, put him 
to death even, but he had got rid of slow music for ever ; 
and as he thought of this, the stately Duilius would 
snap his Angers and dance with secret delight. 

All disposition to dance, however, was forgotten upon 
the arrival of lictors bearing an official missive. He 
looked at it for a long time before he dared to break the 
big seal and cut the cord which bound the tablets which 
might contain his doom. 

He did it at last, and smiled with relief as he began 
to read ; for the decree was courteously, almost affec- 
tionately, worded. The Senate, considering (or affect- 
ing to consider) the disappearance of the flute-player a 
mere accident, expressed their formal regret at the fail- 
ure of the provision made in his honor. 

Then, as he read on, Duilius dashed the tablets into 
small fragments, and rolled on the ground, and tore his 
hair, and howled : for the Senatorial decree concluded 
by a declaration that, in consideration of his brilliant 


ACCOMPANIED ON THE FLUTE. 239 

exploits, the State thereby placed at his disposal two 
more flute-players, who, it was confldeutly hoped, would 
survive the wear and tear of their ministrations longer 
than the first. 

Duilius retired to his room and made his will, taking 
care to have it properly signed and attested. Then he 
fastened himself in, and when they broke down the 
door next day, they found a lifeless corpse, with a strange 
sickly smile upon his pale face. 

Iso one in Rome quite made out the reason of this 
smile, but it was generally thought to denote the gratifi- 
cation of the deceased at the idea of leaving his beloved 
ones in comfort, if not luxury ; for, though the bulk of 
his fortune was left to Carthaginian charities, he had 
had the forethought to bequeath a flute-player apiece to 
his wife. and mother-in-law. 


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